


A Flicker of Light

by victor_fucking_hugo



Series: The Soul of the Light [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Arguing, Combeferre Knows Everything, Dark Magic, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Frenemies, Grantaire & Éponine Thénardier Friendship, M/M, Minor Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, One-Sided Enjolras/Grantaire, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Grantaire, Series, Soul Bond, minor combeferre/eponine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 23:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victor_fucking_hugo/pseuds/victor_fucking_hugo
Summary: Enjolras is 'The Soul of the Light.'Grantaire, on the other hand, is just trying to make it through the day without being kidnapped because he just so happens to be 'bound' to the guy.Set in a different world where magic exists it's no wonder Enjolras is practically overflowing with magical capabilities while Grantaire is stuck to him (literally) and is just trying to keep up with the ride.





	A Flicker of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone :)
> 
> I know it's been a HOT second but I'm back!! And... you know me.... instead of finishing stuff I've already started on... instead I started a whole new series. Whoops. Well, I hope you all like it and this is just the first installment. I've had a plan set for this entire series for probably a year now I've just been too busy to write it all out. But, if this gets some good responses I'll try and post the next installment of this series in a month or so! 
> 
> Please let me know what you guys think, I love you feedback more than anything as a writer. And, just a warning, this story is realllllyyyy out there. Don't ask me where this idea popped into my mind, it's honestly been too long for me to really remember. I hope you guys get a kick out of it though! Enjoy :)

The sun was barely at it’s highest peak when Grantaire (once again) found himself kidnapped.

Although being kidnapped wasn’t necessarily a shocking thing to happen to Grantaire nowadays, it still irritated the hell out of him. The part of being blind folded, knocked out, forced to drink or inhale some shady spell or concoction, shoved into a crate of some sort, etc....was excruciatingly exhausting (and more than most times left him with a horrid headache for the next couple days. What a joy). Grantaire, although he would never admit it, lost count of how many times it had happened. It was becoming a recurring event, something that Grantaire should expect to happen at least twice every three months or so. There was nothing he could particularly do about it, and even if he could by that point he had lost all willingness or motivation to do so.

It wasn’t like he was some prize. One look at him could tell anyone, past the border or within, that he was nothing but a simple mage barely getting by. His hair was long, uncut for quite some time and mostly shoved up into a beanie or put up into a messy bun. His nose was broken in too many places and his eyes were too blue and bright for his dark skin. Yep, definitely not the radiance of beauty or ‘the damsel in distress’ look people expected at all. His clothes were tattered hammy downs that still fit him from his teenage years before his parents had disowned him for being a “dangerous, broken mage that has denied his destiny”. It wasn’t official, Grantaire’s name was still associated with that of his father’s, but the shame was still there. Burning strong and doubtful to ever subside. 

Still, despite his looks and unchallenging magical capability, Grantaire was unable to writhe out of this (what he hoped was a) phase of brutes attacking him out of the blue.

Perhaps that is why one of his captures, a skinny, pale, and heavily freckled kid, was giving him such a weird look through the burning red bars of his ‘cage’. Grantaire was calm, completely and utterly unaffected ever since he stepped out of the small cafe, coffee and bagel in hand, around two hours ago only to be dragged into an ally and forced into a cage that had been charmed too many times for Grantaire to count and looked like it was meant for a great beast. Well, he was definitely more of a beast than a damsel that was for sure. Still, he appreciated the cute little effort that had gone into making such a contraption. Most times he found himself lucky enough to be knocked out and hauled on some brute’s back--but to get his own fancy ride out of the border of the city. He would be lying if he wasn’t just a bit flattered by the whole nonsensical situation.

He hadn’t struggled, simply let the two brutes shove him into the pin before stepping back and chanting a spell in a language Grantaire hadn’t bothered to learn. It only took a few minutes for the steel of the bars to heat up due to the men’s words, burning with a vibrant red that was almost as blinding as the sun above them. It was petty magic, something anyone with a brain and a couple of buddies could do honestly, but Grantaire still decided to humor them.

“So, I’m guessing you don’t want me touching these then, correct?” Grantaire had asked, a sloppy smirk appearing on his face when the men simply rolled their eyes at him before using a quick teleportation spell to zap them into a less populous area and far away from the normal city limits--the woods. Grantaire only felt slightly dizzy after the forced teleportation, but nothing too serious that would hint at him being taken past the border. He decided they were probably only a good twenty miles or so from the nearest city, nothing too drastic.

He has never been past the border, not that he has really any desire to until this past year, but he knew deep down that he would never leave. Canea was his home, the only place he knew and although he wouldn’t deny that his curiosity could possibly be stretched farther than Canea’s woodland areas and rundown cities, he knew he would never leave. He couldn’t really if he was being brutally honest. 

It was only after they teleported to an unfamiliar part of the woods, even unfamiliar to Grantaire, that he heard the rough hooves of foreign horses racing their way. He didn’t bother looking up from his new prison (for at least the next couple hours anyway) to see others coming. Instead, he found himself sliding down onto his back, his muscles aching from a long shift at work the night before. At that point none of the beefy, obviously annoyed henchmen even bothered to give him a passing glance, that is until one of the men that came riding in successfully attached their horse to the cage Grantaire was in, no doubt in order to tug him through the forest, looked back, his eyes gazing over him suspiciously.

Grantaire just scoffed at him and rolled his eyes. This ‘henchmen’ sent to kidnap him was a fucking kid. The freckled one with eyes way too big to be anything more than endearing. Grantaire tried his best not to let his mind wander to Gavroche or Azelma doing something like this, mostly because of the threat to their safety, but also because they would have to go through Eponine’s wrath if they ever tried to do something so stupid.

It was after two hours of the sun blasting down on him through the already heated bars when Grantaire couldn’t stand it any longer. His head snapped towards the boy walking a safe distance away from the cage, “Why are you staring at me like I’m something to be pitied? Cut it out. It’s distracting.”

“How?” The boy asked, skillfully dodging Grantaire’s first question and instead addressing Grantaire’s last comment. His hair was long, strawberry blonde, and ran down his tattered white shirt and almost completely covered his slender shoulders. He wasn’t even pretending not to notice Grantaire anymore, his eyes suddenly widened as he awaited Grantaire’s answer.

Grantaire groaned, rolling his head to the side of the cage, “I’m trying to get some shut eye.”

“You what?” The boy suddenly paled, his face contorting into a mixture of helpless confusion. Grantaire would’ve laughed if the trail they had been stupidly following hadn’t been so bumpy that it caused Grantaire’s stomach to clench up in agony. “You...you do know what we are doing, right…”

This time Grantaire didn’t care about the unrest in his stomach, the laugh came out anyway. He sprawled his limbs out, attempting to crack his back while also being wary of not touching any heated bars. The last thing he needed on this delightful road trip was the pungent smell of burnt flesh. “Trust me. I’m perfectly aware of my role here. What are you guys going for, hmm? Ransom? Damsel in distress act? I’ve fucking perfected that one. Too bad, you guys didn’t give me a chance to change into my silk and satin dress before hauling me away. What a shame.”

“You don’t need to be wearing a dress to be a damsel.”

Grantaire nodded, “I’m aware.” When the boy gave him an uncertain look, Grantaire rolled his eyes, “I get it kid. Just poking a bit of fun is all.”

When the boy only stared at him, his wide green eyes becoming far too earnest to be real, Grantaire continued with a wave of his hand, “You guys took me on my coffee break, alright? I’m fucking tired and under caffeinated. Sarcasm is the least I can do to annoy you guys right now. Unless you happen to have something to drink?”

The boy shook his head and was silent for a moment. The only sounds that could be heard were the horses trotting and the wind blowing through the trees and bushes. He spoke, his voice soft like he was afraid the others would hear, “You know these men are afraid of you...don’t you?”

The boy didn’t ask him like he was asking him a question, more like he was clarifying that he knew that Grantaire knew he was in complete control of the situation, even though the boy had no way of knowing why Grantaire felt this way. Grantaire couldn’t help but smile at that. 

“Are you not then?” Grantaire asked.

“Of course I am!” The boy explained, struggling to keep up with the fast pace at which the horses were trailing the carriage through the muddy grounds, “But...I’m more curious than scared. And the fact that you are behind heated bars is a little comforting, I’m afraid to add.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile at that.

He didn’t talk with people often, or people didn’t talk to him often was a more correct way of putting it--not like he blamed them. Almost no one had so much as approached him in the past year for reasons anyone who wasn’t completely and totally magically inept could tell. 

But, talking to someone now(other than his friends), whether their goal was to kidnap him or not, did suddenly sound appealing. Fuck. Eponine was right--chatting it up with his kidnappers--he really was a sad bastard.

He already knew he was in trouble when he titled his head in the direction of the blonde-haired boy who was still looking at him with wide eyes, freckles splattered about his feminine features. He looked too young, too pure for this horrible world with his hair shining against the bright sun and his eyes looking up at Grantaire like he was something to be admired. He liked him already. He thought the boy was incredibly stupid. But the fondness was still there. Shit. 

“I do, but trust me, they have nothing to fear except for a more than slightly hungover, mediocre mage.” Grantaire told him honestly. It felt weird telling the truth, but he saw no reason to lie, at least not in situations like these. It’s not like these men would be here for much longer. 

Dead or outside the borders, that is.

It was only a matter of time...

The boy’s nose crinkled, “But...so, that aura on you right now…” Grantaire was more than aware of the dark, powerful aura that radiated off of him. It attracted more than enough attention to him on a regular basis, alerting everyone within a fifty foot radius of who he was and the power that had been forced upon him. It was annoying, to say the least, but something he had no choice but to grow accustomed to. The aura was so thick and strong that he would get the same effect out of people around him by walking up and throwing a bag of sea salt on them and yelling STAY THE FUCK AWAY, PEASANTS. 

He felt it as much as anyone else did, the overwhelming and crushing aura that felt like a whole new entity let alone someone else's magical potential, and, contrary to what others might think, it startled him as much as it did them. He wasn’t born with this incredible power and he can’t do anything with it either. The power isn’t his to control, only to carry and harbor at times. It’s an extension of what he is connected to. Like being strapped to a raging, rabid dog 24/7. Nothing he can do about it though, unfortunately, he can’t help but think bitterly.

The boy continued, his lips curving into a promising grin, “...it’s not you. It’s him, isn’t it? quod animam privat lumine.”

The soul of the light. Grantaire smiled. Enjolras hated being called that.

Grantaire lips slowly curved into a shit-faced grin as he let the boy’s words sink in. He couldn’t help it, honestly. Hearing people, whether it be normal people on the streets of Canea or his captures, refer to Enjolras is such a way was--well, it was hilarious. They spoke about him like he was some God, which Grantaire suspected he might as well be, but that didn’t make it any less funny.

Grantaire couldn’t decide which notion made it so funny to him. It could be because when people called Enjolras that title, a title that wasn’t even officially his persay, they made it sound like he was something to be feared, something that would eventually rule over the earth with an iron fist when in reality Enjolras, while undoubtedly a burning flame of passion, would give up anything to help a stray cat. (An image of Enjolras’ beating his fist on top of a table appeared in his mind, “Listen buddy, this cat needs a home and you can damn well count on us to give it a fucking home. Don’t think any hierarchy system or corrupt government is gonna stop us, not when we are so close to Justice.”)

No, it was probably the look of disdain and disgust that came across Enjolras’ face whenever anyone called him that--that was what made it so funny. The scrunching of his nose, the angry shade of red on his cheeks--Enjolras looked so human at times like those Grantaire almost believed he actually was one. Almost.

Grantaire, notorious for messing with the people that tried to fucking drag him away from his home every so often, leaned towards the steel bars that kept him locked up, “Oh yes. You feel it don’t you? The power wafting off of him and landing on me, encircling me in his dangerously dark aura. Pretty terrifying, right?”

“Maybe.” The boy muttered, honestly. “If you didn’t look so smug right now. Maybe.”

“I like you.” Grantaire announced. The boy’s eyes widened. “Perhaps when the idiot comes down here to bust me out of this heat box I’ll convince him to spare you.”

Grantaire meant it as a joke. Who in their right mind tries to convince Enjolras to do something he doesn’t want to do? The boy’s face lit up though, like he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. His steps quickened as he struggled to keep up with the moving cage-structure, “He can do that? Come here and--”

“He can.” Grantaire said with a shrug. Wait, when had he sat up? When had he bothered to put that much effort into this conversation? “But he won’t, normally. Unless you really piss him off.”

“Grantaire,” the boy said, his voice suddenly hushed but his eyes still held the same gleaming, endearing light. He pushed back strands of his hair and bit his lip, “Can I ask you something?”

“I’m your prisoner.” Grantaire reminded him, although at this point they both knew that if Grantaire didn’t want to talk he certainly wouldn’t be. So why was he talking? To a boy nonetheless about things he isn’t particularly adamant on discussing even around his friends. He ends up sighing, “Shoot. I’m bored as hell.”

“What did you do? Or,” The boy paused, looking to the side for a moment as if to rekindle his thoughts. He eventually looked back up, more confident and sure, “Why did he choose you? To be soulbound to you. I’m--oh my goodness--I wasn’t trying to insult you, I swear. I just. Someone with his power--his status--surely he had an idea in mi--”

Grantaire tried his very best to keep a straight face, not let a single emotion escape through his stoned expression. By the slight downturn of the boy’s lips though, he concluded that he most likely failed. He raked his hand through his curls, “What is your name, kid?”

The boy looked taken aback for a moment before nodding, “Jehan Prouvaire.”

“Alright Jehan Prouvaire,” The name sounded odd against his lips. Definitely not a common name around the people of Yukkith, “let me offer you some free advice.” Grantaire said. He clenched his palm and brought it close to the bars. When Jehan leaned in he released his grip and let flurries of pink and purple smoke leave his hand. They smoldered up to the sky, blending in with the sun’s rays before promptly disappearing. It was easy magic, something that came natural to most especially when surrounded by nature and away from the harsh dampings of the cities, but Jehan looked mystified. Grantaire hoped it would be enough of a distraction when he muttered, “Drop it.”

Jehan looked back at Grantaire’s face, all amazement gone from his features at the helpless flurries of smoke Grantaire made on a whim. He looked disgraced, like Grantaire had personally offended him, “I can’t. I never will until I learn the secret.”

“What secret?” Grantaire asked, realizing too late that he didn’t particularly care what Jehan’s secret was.

Jehan said, his face scrunching up in a determined frown that reminded Grantaire too much of Feuilly when he was trying to get a point across. He would compare any determined frown to Enjolras’, but Enjolras’ determined frown was on a whole new level of comparability. He was practically the queen of it.

“I’m a mage, or a shitty mage at that. More of a researcher, sort to say. Back in my homeland I excel in the study of soulbonding. Well, excel is a heavy word considering it is a territory completely unknown and undiscovered. More I’m a researcher in the more deeply emotionally pivoting, um side of magic. Soulbonding is a large area of magic that we are blinded to, all of us mages are. No one understands it and when it works so well with the human soul--like most magic does, of course--it can almost be dangerous for us not to know more about it. For centuries soulbonding has been a forgotten but also treasured art that no matter how many times it happens, no one is able to successfully figure it out.” Jehan paused, his cheeks slightly flushed from the rant, before continuing with great enthusiasm, “When a feeling for another grows to a point where it can’t be expressed, can’t be--”

“Contained--it manifests.” Grantaire replied, dumbly. He couldn’t count how many times he had heard this rant. “The emotions of a person along with their magic intermix becoming what researchers claim to be a ‘string’ of sorts that ties itself to another. Like your soul and magic fused as one suddenly attaching to another and becoming a whole different entity altogether. Once linked to another that individual is bound to that person, and in most cases vice versa. You are no longer yourself, and neither are whoever you’ve bonded with--" Grantaire sighs, his voice sounding dead even to his own ears, --"you are one in the same. Soul fucking fused.”

“That’s the summed up version of it, but yes.” Jehan says. His eyes are still wide and gleaming with excitement. “Look at me? Do I look like a henchman to you?”

Grantaire laughs, “Not in the least. So what? You came here to learn more about soulbonding, yes?”

Canea wasn’t exactly well known for it’s vast population of soulbonded couples, but Grantaire found himself unwilling to tell Jehan that so blatantly. It was more well known for its plethora of research labs and dedication to the more spiritual side of magic opposed to the destructive kind. Destructive magic is the kind that is used in wars without feelings and hardly any use of the mind. Spiritual magic comes from within, although it can be helped with herbs and other potions, but is not as heavily dependent on elements as other territories of magic are. 

“Absolutely.” Jehan says quickly, nodding. Grantaire can almost laugh at him for his overexcitement. “I-I never intended, nor do I intend to now, kidnap you Grantaire. Grantaire--may I call you that? I bare no ill will towards you and only wish to learn. My people think we can get a ransom out of you...from him to, um, get you back or whatever...they are truly idiots, but home sweet home, right?”

Grantaire wants to tell him that out of the very selected group of people who are soulbound to someone, he is probably the worst candidate to try and learn from. Whether it be from the heat pooling in around him though from the bars or the fact that Jehan is literally almost bouncing with excitement that makes him shrug instead, “So what? Are you gonna bust me out of here, Jehan?”

“Please,” Jehan says, rolling his eyes. “I may not be the best mage ever, but even I can sense through his aura that you are not as weak as you claim to be. If you wanted out of those bars you would’ve already been out. Plus, even if you weren’t strong enough, I knew before I even signed up for this gig that your soulmate would come for you.”

Grantaire groaned, throwing his head back, “Jehan, sweetie, if you use the word soulmate one more time in my company I’ll--”

“Are you not soulmates?”

Grantaire felt a lump grow in his throat. He didn’t even try to swallow it. Yes, Grantaire was soulbonded to Enjolras, that much everyone in Canea, and other territories obviously practically knew, but soulmates. To use such a word to describe him and--

Grantaire cringed.

They were moving deeper and deeper into the wooded area and the heat from the bars mixed with the heat from the sun was making Grantaire more than a little dizzy. He felt disoriented, but not in the drunken stupor way he often found himself in. The feeling was unsettling and Jehan’s bold words didn’t help his state of mind either. He brushed his fingertips together and wondered if right now would be a decent time to break out. It wouldn’t be easy, but he could probably manage to cool the bars and use some form of trickery to get the brutes to let him out of the cage. And, judging by the idiotic looks on all their rounded, dead-eyed faces (aside from Jehan), that would be the least of his issues. Getting back though--that was mostly why Grantaire felt the need to wait this shit out. Walking back in this heat, not only did it sound unappealing, it sounded like it may be impossible considering how dehydrated Grantaire felt.

He threw his head back, silently crying out for something to drink. Something strong would definitely help.

Instead, he found himself looking Jehan dead in the eyes and licking his dry, cracked lips and saying,

“Here’s your first lesson, Jehan. Soulbonding and Soulmates are two very different things.”

 

~~~

“Hey--Hey! Prisoner talking over here show some fucking respect, dick.”

When one of the men looked back at him, scowl ever so present, he barked, “Shut your mouth or we’ll make it disappear.”

“Ah, but will making it disappear really be enough to stop me from talking?” Grantaire asked, throwing Jehan a grin from outside the bars. Jehan did his best to avert his eyes and not smile back. “No matter, I just wanted to know how much longer we have until we reach the border. It has been four fucking hours and I need a drink if I’m going to make it through another two alive. Who is in charge of this kidnapping fiasco anyway? I demand to spill my complaints to them this moment.”

Now Grantaire was just being a little shit, the brawny henchman must’ve known that too because he only scoffed before turning to the man next to him, “How far are we?”

Another henchmen next to him took a quick swig out of a his hip flask making Grantaire’s mouth water in longing. Shit heads. The man shrugged, tucking his flask back into his pocket, “About an hour. I don’t know, our navigator is fucking sleeping on the back of the cage.”

This was true. Grantaire had rolled his eyes at the display of the brute crawling onto the back of the cage, inches away from the steaming hot bars. Fucking amateurs.

Grantaire immediately beamed at the brute’s words, he couldn’t help it, the cage really was uncomfortable. Jehan noticed and gave him a confused look. Grantaire simply waved him off and whispered, “Prepare yourself Jehan. Here comes the the soul of the light.”

Jehan gave him a weary look, but when Grantaire simply smirked at him and laid back down on the cage floor Jehan seemed to relax a little. That didn’t stop his new acquaintance from gnawing on his bottom lip like it was something to eat. Whether it was nerves or excitement Grantaire couldn’t really be sure.

~~~

Grantaire could feel the obnoxious pulling on his chest only minutes later. The anger, the annoyance, the--well, Enjolras. Enjolras--the epitome of ruthless and aggressive passion that reverberated within Grantaire the closer to got.

He could feel him. Feel each breath he took, quick and raged. All the emotions coursing through him. The tightness in his muscles followed by flashes of anger behind his eyes. The idiotic, dangerous thoughts running through his overworked mind. The overabundance of of naive hope swelling within him. He could feel his power, the true and overwhelming sense of superiority that they both knew Enjolras hated with a fiery passion. The dark aura that swooned around him, and occasionally Grantaire, was suffocating and only became stronger the closer Enjolras got.

It got so strong that the henchmen, once shuffling through the forest and half dead, suddenly perked up. Their eyes scanned the forests for threats and Grantaire could hardly hold back his smirk at their true incompetence. Who did these idiots think they were stealing from? A simple mage with amazing blonde hair? Fools.

“Oh my gosh,” 

Grantaire’s eyes snapped down to Jehan, he smirked, “Quite overpowering, isn’t it? Imagine it following you around for a year. It’s a doozy.”

Jehan didn’t seem to hear him though. His eyes had expanded and were staring at the ground where his stilled feet lay. He wasn’t moving and Grantaire immediately noticed some of the other henchmen doing the same. The cage came to halt, the horses stopping abruptly along with it, and almost sent Grantaire flying face first into a steaming bar. He quickly caught and steadied himself with ease.

Grantaire sat up, his legs crossed and his sleeves falling down over his palms. He frowned at the torn, paint-stained cuffs of his shirt and absent-mindedly began chipping away at the stains. As he inspected further, an overabundance of yellow littered the back of his left elbow. Weird, he couldn’t recall the last time he used so much yellow...yellow was too bright. Too…cheery and beautiful.

He had tried to paint the sun multiple times, whether it be up in the sky or just setting made no difference, it always came out looking like shit. No amount of petty tricks or spells could fix Grantaire’s issues with hot colors. He tended to draw more with deep shades of purple, blue, and green that could all be found in the midst of the forest not far off the western farmlands of Canea. They weren’t the best portraits he had drawn, and Canea didn’t have the prettiest forests either, but he did enjoy doing them the most. He felt alive out in the forests alone with nothing but a paintbrush and his acrylics. He could escape there, no dark aura, no stares from others, no doubts--just himself and the quiet hum of nature around him (and a couple bottles of liquor from Eponine’s cupboards).

He would go out more often, away from the inner cities that is if it didn’t make Enjolras fucking seethe with rage whenever he passed out in the middle of a meadow. 

“How are you so calm?” 

It took Grantaire a moment to look up from the hem of his shirt where a new splotch of green had suddenly appeared that was definitely not there the night before. When his eyes landed on Jehan though he nearly burst into tears of laughter. He shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away at the trembling thing that was Jehan before him, “Jehan, sweetie, you look like you may crumble any minute. Take a deep breathe.”

“A deep breath?” Jehan asked, exasperated. His limbs were shaking, his mouth agape along with confused, bright eyes still staring at nothing. “I’m--there’s no way you can’t feel--”

“The pissed off, raging, deathly aura currently coming at us? Oh, I feel it.” Grantaire reassured him. Jehan couldn’t even look up from the ground to acknowledge him. “I just choose to ignore it.”

Jehan’s brow furrowed, his voice was suddenly nothing but a hushed whisper, “I knew he was different--with more magical potential than most could dream of--I’ve--I’ve heard tales but--Christ, I can’t even move. The aura...” Jehan choked, his lungs failing to cooperative and take in air properly. Jehan bristly shook his head and spat out, “It’s suffocating.”

“Yeah, he has the effect on people when he gets angry. Passionately angry, of course.” Grantaire said, his eyes looking up towards the front of the cage where three henchmen stood, shoulder to shoulder, all frozen in their spots. They weren’t even talking, nor swaying from their obvious inebriation. Just completely still with fear.

“Hey, you guys alright up there?” None of them move, all as frozen and terrified as Jehan. Grantaire smirked, “I suggest we get a move on if you guys wanna reach Camelot--or wherever the fuck you guys came from--before blondie catches up with us. He loves a good game of catch the drunkard in the middle of the fucking woo--”

As if on cue, Grantaire felt a wave of emotion hit him in the stomach followed by a cloud of black, blistering aura. Despite his years of building up a sort of ‘immunity’ to Enjolras’ rage, there were still times when even Grantaire became frozen and was unable to take the immensity around him. He let out a shallow breath, not daring to turn around, “Razzy, I see you’ve come to join the party.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, his voice shaking slightly. He sounded angry--how typical. 

Enjolras circled around the cage, revealing himself to Jehan and Grantaire who could only stare in awe. Staring at Enjolras, Grantaire needed to work on building up an immunity to that. 

Enjolras is tall, always has been, his back straightened and his head always facing forward. He walked with a certain demeanor that Grantaire is positive he doesn’t even realize, a walk of a man who is on a fucking mission. He had walked up to Grantaire like that they day they met almost four years ago and was still just as strong today, it almost seemed like nothing has changed between them. 

As Grantaire took him in from within the cage, he could see that his hair was curled perfectly and ran slightly down his back in a short ponytail that, judging by the various kinks in it, had most likely been braided sometime earlier. His jaw was hard and tense, everything that made up Enjolras, and his eyes were no different. His eyes scanned the area carelessly as if he had done so without having to even be here hours ago. He was wearing a simple red shirt that looked soft and fits well in just the right areas of Enjolras’ lean and toned body. The sleeves came down over his arms where Grantaire knew many tattoos (spells of some sort no doubt) and wrist bands lie. Hell, Grantaire had done some of the tattoos himself. His skin was pale, but still looked like it has been kissed by the sun itself and there wasn't a blemish to be seen. 

Grantaire knew he should judge Enjolras for his looks, and he did when they first met. The pretty, rich boy with nothing but power to waste and looks to gloat. The longer he looked though, the more entranced he became until it wasn’t exactly about how Enjolras looked, but how he presented himself. It was a vicious circle that Grantaire has found himself stuck in for years.

So yeah, he stared. Because what else could he do? Everyone else did, why couldn’t he?

Enjolras didn't even bother giving him a passing glance. His steps were quick, each one reminding the earth of his presence, as he swept past Jehan who let out an involuntary squeak of surprise. Grantaire couldn’t help but grin down at him, the effects of Enjolras’ bitch mode wearing off of himself at least the longer Enjolras was around. Either that or he was somehow finding a way to cope with it all.

Enjolras’ gaze landed on the last of the frozen henchmen before his face fell dramatically, almost comically really, and he hefted out a sigh. His eyes slide closed and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides; Grantaire noticed his knuckles are bruised. Typical. “Please tell me these aren’t the men who kidnapped you." He paused, slowly opening his eyes to look at Grantaire, "They are pathetic.”

Grantaire’s limbs screamed in protest, but he managed to at least meet Enjolras’ gaze, if only for a moment or two, “Afraid so, chief. Jumped me on my coffee break about, you know, four and half fucking hours ago. Don’t worry about me though, spending all day in a charmed cage like some wild animal is exactly what I wanted to do. I feel relieved, really. Replenished.”

“I was busy.” Enjolras grumbled, his tone all too familiar and a painful reminder that they’ve had this conversation many times. “You can’t expect me to drop everything and come to your rescue whenever--”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it. Pulling the golden boy away from his work--how could I live with myself? Sorry E, I’ll try harder not to get myself kidnapped next time.” Grantaire dared to wink at him. “I’ll make you proud. You’ll see.”

Enjolras’ scowl deepened as he shifted towards Grantaire’s cage. He didn’t waste a second in gripping the the red bar that would undoubtedly make a normal man’s skin melt off. The opposite effect happened with Enjolras though. The red glow began to die out of the bars one by one and Enjolras’ face was unchanging, as if performing the task was nothing but child’s play. 

Grantaire would be lying if claimed he wasn’t mesmerized by it all. Watching Enjolras perform the impossible when it came to magic was enlightening, a reminder of how many levels above everyone else he was. A reminder that Enjolras was dangerous and true force to reckoned with. A reminder that Grantaire was a lunatic to ever try to pick a fight with something like him. This fact doesn’t exactly stop him from doing so on nearly a daily basis though.

It took a couple of seconds, the heat finally dying down under his whim before Enjolras gripped two bars, one in each hand, and mumbled a series of phrases under his breath. White whisps of smoke drained out of Enjolras’ clenched palms as the metal bars slowly melted away at the sound of Enjolras’ words and the feel of his touch as he pulled the two apart with the bare minimum amount of concentration.

Soon Enjolras’ eyes were open and looking at Grantaire expectedly when the two bars successfully spread far enough that Grantaire’s frame could slip through. 

Grantaire couldn’t help but smirk. He really was an idiot sometimes. “Fucking showoff. You know there’s a door with a couple petty charms on it on the other side, right?”

Enjolras glowered at him, “If they were so petty I don’t see any reason why you yourself couldn’t have handled them.” 

“What can I say? I’m lazy.”

“Get out.” Enjolras said, threateningly. 

Grantaire decided it was better not to meet Enjolras’s gaze and instead didn't even bother standing up. Instead, he slid over and stuck his legs down over the side of the cage. The drop wasn't too far, wasn’t really anything at all and would be like stepping down a couple steps on a staircase all at once, but that didn't stop Enjolras from sliding an arm around Grantaire’s mid section and pulling him off the carriage like a fucking child.

Grantaire’s breath hitched as Enjolras’ set him down a beat later, his touch lingering for a moment before Grantaire hastily took a step back. His clothes suddenly felt rumpled like they’ve been touched by a searing heat that ruined the fabric. His muscles were suddenly tense and a wave of embarrassment begged to wash over him at Enjolras’ bold movements, but he compelled himself to force them down with nothing but sheer will. Enjolras was stupidly bold all the time--something to do with his lack of social skills, no doubt--and it should be something he ought to be used to by now.

“Oh, my hero.” Grantaire mused, failing to add at least half of the sarcasm into the statement that he intended to. He refused to meet Enjolras’ eyes.

Grantaire’s gaze lingered towards Jehan only a short couple feet away only to find him still frozen in fear. By this point Grantaire was almost positive that either Enjolras put a spell over the bandits, probably some ancient charm that Enjolras had converted to memory just because, or he was just really fucking pissed to the point where people who weren't used to his aura were stilled--either one seemed extremely plausible. 

It wasn’t until cold, long fingers that were covered in thick brown gloves with the fingers cut off were suddenly trailing down his neck, demanding and rough, that his complete attention was pulled back to Enjolras. Enjolras had somehow moved up towards Grantaire without him noticing, not that sneaking up on Grantaire was much of a skill. He really could be quite unobservant. That didn't’ stop the sudden heat from building up inside of Grantaire’s chest and stomach just at the idea of Enjolras’ hands on him.

Enjolras fingers raked over Grantaire’s neck and up around his chin before Grantaire tried to pull back instinctively only to be held in place by a hand gripping his chin and tilting his head up abruptly. His hands are chilled to the bone and sent a spark of energy racing down Grantaire’s spine and the fierce look Enjolras was shooting him wasn’t helping. His eyes never met Grantaire’s, but seemed to look over every other inch of him in a two second time slot. It was only when Enjolras’ thumbs moved over Grantaire’s cheekbones and his face was suddenly far too close for comfort that Grantaire let out what he hoped sounded like a strangled huff of frustration.

“I’m fine. I’m not hurt I--” He managed before Enjolras’s hands began traveling down his arms, obviously looking for some life threatening injury that Grantaire forgot to mention. Sometimes Enjolras could act too much like himself for even Grantaire to handle.

After several more seconds of prodding and poking, Enjolras finally crossed the line when he began forcing Grantaire’s eye open with two firm fingers. Grantaire yanked away with a choked growl, “Enjolras, stop! Fucking hell I--”

Enjolras took a step away though, his eyes lingering over Grantaire for a second more before swiftly turning around and all but marching over to the other henchmen. “Drink some water.” He ordered, from over his shoulder.

“Oh sure,” Grantaire muttered under his breath. He let his tense shoulders finally relax and decided resting against the bars of the cage was his best course of action. Getting in Enjolras’ way when he was in his super serious mode would only make Enjolras’ annoyance and anger at him spike and Grantaire was already finding it hard to breath when in such close proximity with the powerful magic-user. He lifted up his sleeve, adamant on continuing to chip away at the yellow paint still buried into the fabric of his cuff, “Let me just pull some fresh, uncharmed and untainted, water out of my ass...Oh what? Sorry I forgot--only you could do that. You know. You being the spirit of the fucking sun or whatever….”

~~~

Courfeyrac was grinning when Grantaire strolled into the Musain. His eyes were wide and looked like they knew way too much. 

Grantaire sighed and turned around, adamant on walking back home.

“R!” Courfeyrac called, now out of his seat and racing to Grantaire’s side. He smelled like some snapdragons and soil from the eastern forest. He, Combeferre, and possibly Bahorel were working on some type of potion all day, but Grantaire couldn’t be sure. He never really excelled in potions work.

“What?” Grantaire asked, trying and failing to sound casual as Courfeyrac basically lifted him off of the ground and drug him over to the far corner of the Musain. 

Bahorel was there along with Feuilly who both seemed to be focusing more on the ball of fire they were passing carefully between each other than anything else. Joly was there was well, his feet propped up on Bossuet’s legs as sparks flew from his fingers and landed gracefully in the pots and pans of every flower bed that was scattered about the Musain. His magic, a soft and colorful pink mist, seemed to drag about the Musain and fill it with life and reminded Grantaire of being out in the forest once again. Joly always did have a knack for bringing the outdoors inside.

Bossuet smiled at him as they approached, “Rough day?”

“You have no idea.” Grantaire answered, sliding down onto a seat next to Feuilly who was now gnawing on his lip in deep concentration.

Courfeyrac was still grinning at him. Little shit. “So, how was our damsel in distress today?”

“Peachy.”

“Enjolras couldn’t focus for shit.” Courfeyrac laughed. “He kept doing that thing where he bangs his head on the table, as if that would help. How far out did they take you?” 

Grantaire shrugged, “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Enjolras cared.” Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow up at him, his hand snaking around the neck of a bottle that Grantaire was positive probably belonged to Bahorel.

Grantaire gave him an unimpressed look, “Shouldn’t you be with Ferre and the Sun God? They brought prisoners back you know.”

Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and of course Enjolras were the unspoken authorities of Yukkith. Nothing official, of course. In general terms their territory was pretty relaxed and peacefully. Strict authority by higher ups wasn't necessarily a constant need. Still, Enjolras would rather bury himself twelve feet under than take any position of authority in Yukkith. But when it came to dealing with people from outside the border no one seemed to have a problem letting them interrogate them. It mostly ended up with them confessing that they either wanted to steal Enjolras’ power, kill Enjolras, use Enjolras, worship Enjolras, take the sacred jewels from Enjolras’ belly (an urban myth that Enjolras tries hard to forget that people actually believe), make Enjolras their leader, something else completely idiotic and totally impossible that has something to do with Enjolras. It became routine almost and no one seemed to have a problem with the method in which dealing with outsiders was held, so nothing ever changed. Outsiders were either locked up or thrown outside the border and warned never to come back. (Normally the latter, Enjolras really was terrifying.)

“Already checked them out.” Joly answered, his eyes still wavering towards a pot of petunias to his right. His fingers strained as more sparks flew from his fingertips. “Enjolras said something about speaking to one of them alone….”

Grantaire twisted awkwardly in his seat, desperate for something to drink that would calm his nerves. He should’ve gone home after Enjolras had zapped them all back to a more populous area of Yukkith, but the thought of booze stunted Grantaire from making the longer walk towards his shitty ass apartment with no air conditioner. 

Yes, drinking and forgetting was always a better idea.

“I asked him to.” Grantaire shrugged, knowing that denying it would just end up in him getting interrogated longer. The steadily growing ball of fire suddenly burst and almost shattered into nothing but black ashes that now scattered their table. Feuilly groaned, throwing his head back before sitting up straight and smacking a snickering Bahorel on the arm for losing concentration. Grantaire continued, “I couldn’t just let him lock this guy up, okay? He...he was just a kid, alright?”

“And Enjolras listened to you.” Bossuet said.

“For once.” Grantaire mumbled, recounting the memory of following Enjolras up the crowded streets of Yukkith and literally begging him just to talk to this kid before he eventually gave in, mostly out of anger. 

“Well, glad to have you back R.” Courfeyrac replied, happily slapping Grantaire on the back. 

“I was gone for five hours, Courf.”

“Still, I missed you tons.” Courfeyrac beamed his way before ordering another round of drinks. For the first time that day Grantaire finally felt at ease.

 

~~~

“No charge. Free, sir.” 

Grantaire sighed, long and heavy, he hated this. Really, he did.

“Ma’am,” he started, making his voice as light and honest as possible. “I insist. Please, it’s nothing.”

The woman was shaking now, the rows of crafted jewelry shaking along her thin wrists. Her hair was graying and nearly shielded her wide, fearful eyes that were beginning to gloss over with tears. A shawl was draped casually over her shoulders, fabric Grantaire wasn’t familiar with but seemed to be the main resource for whatever she crafted in her shop. Everything to fabrics, bells, some potions, trinkets, and books could be seen scattered about the place. It was a nice little shop. A shop Grantaire had never been into before and now immediately regretted ever stepping into.

“P-Please,” The woman croaked, her accent and choked voice making it hard to understand her from the other side of the counter. Her nails were long and painted, each one glowing when a ray of sunlight from outside hit them. “My treat. My gift. For...you.”

“No,” Grantaire shook his head. 

(“You can’t just take things from people just because they refuse to take money from you! How do you think I--Grantaire...we are helping the people, not stealing from them.)

The vase in his hand suddenly felt a lot heavier. The jewels encrusted into it were placed perfectly, each topaz and ruby creating a dazzling glow every time Grantaire twisted it around in his hands. The colors didn’t look painted on, more like they were blended together by a magical entity with more artistic ability in their hands than Grantaire had in his entire being. The vase was beautiful, something that caught Grantaire’s eyes and immediately made him think of Eponine. 

All he wanted to do was buy it. It should be a simple and easy task as long as the price was decent (which it was for something so beautiful).

Grantaire couldn’t blame the lady for being scared. Most people who saw and brushed past Grantaire that didn’t know him before The Incident last year felt the exact same way. His aura, now mixed and fused with Enjolras’, was lethal. Every aspect of it read danger, spoke danger, and made you feel like you were about to choke on it if you came too close. The lady was terrified, the same look was in her eyes that people got whenever Enjolras was angry. Grantaire’s heart deflated at the look, but there was only so much he could do without frightening her more. 

He knew it would be better just to leave. Just to thank the lady for the ‘gift’ and be on his way, but he knew in the end that would only make him feel worse. Enjolras would hate him if he ever did that again.

“Please,” Grantaire started again when the lady took a daring step back. Honestly, it was too early and he was too hungover for this bullshit. Taking a deep sigh, Grantaire said, “I’m--I just wanna buy this. I don’t want it for free and--and something this beautiful shouldn’t be given away for free. Honestly, what kind of business would this be if you just gave everything away for free? I’m here, a willing customer ready to pay, please let me do this. Please, I promise I won’t hurt you just--let me pay for it.”

When the lady remained silent and didn’t move a muscle, Grantaire groaned. He slammed the various coins and strips of paper onto the desk, with as little force as he could muster at that moment, and turned his back on the lady who now had dozens of tears tracing down her tanned, freckled cheeks. 

He left the store with hunched shoulders and the vase clutched closely to his chest.

~~~

“You heard the news, right?”

Grantaire shrugged, the loose jacket dared to dip off of his shoulder at the sudden movement. He hefted it back up irritably before picking up the pace down the long stretch of sidewalk ahead of them. Grantaire liked the outdoors, maybe not as much as some people like Joly who found the outdoors to be a medicinal heaven if you were looking in the right place, but the cold never did settle well with him. The wind was picking up and ruffling Grantaire’s mass of curls into knots.

“Probably not.” Grantaire said, honestly. Eponine nudged him playfully.

“Don’t be cheeky. It’s not bad news. Looks like the Les Amis has got themselves a new member, not official of course, but the golden boy invited him to the next meeting.” Eponine said, casual. She yanked a cigarette out of her coat pocket and lit it with a sudden spark off the top of her thumb like a true expert.

“Good for them.” Grantaire said, taking Eponine’ lit cigarette out from between her lips and, to her annoyance, took a long drag before returning it. “Glad they finally found my replacement.”

“Grantaire,” Eponine said, her voice a little more serious. Grantaire quirked his eyebrows at her. Since when was Eponine ever serious? “He’s an outsider. I’m, uh, he’s part of the group that took you a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh,” 

There really wasn’t much to say. Grantaire had no right in who could and couldn’t come to the meetings. Hell, he had been kicked out of the meeting for weeks at a time before himself. He trusted Enjolras’ judgement as much as he trusted Combeferre’s or Eponine’s. Enjolras, while naive and utterly hopeless at times, wasn’t an idiot. If he felt the need to bring an outsider into his little justice club who was Grantaire to tell him not to? It wasn’t like Enjolras couldn’t kill the newcomer on the spot if he ever got out of line anyway.

“Alright then,” Grantaire concluded. Eponine threw him a dubious look, one which Grantaire promptly ignored. “Let’s go get some lunch. I’m starved. Toad legs and fish eyes sound good to you?”

“Asshat.” Eponine grumbled, once again nudging him playfully and almost causing him to run into a lady with two kids on either side of her. 

 

~~~

Enjolras was talking again. Grantaire picked up another fry from the large bucket--yes, bucket--of salt-laced fries Courfeyrac had brought for ‘celebration’. The Musain wasn’t as crowded as it normally felt, but then again it was a Tuesday afternoon and most people had actual jobs and duties to attend to. Still, that didn’t halt Enjolras from calling an emergency meeting at the Musain that everyone was required to be at. (except Feuilly, not because Enjolras pitied or favorited him, but because he knew Feuilly worked god awful shifts at the clinic. Especially during this time of the year when people’s spirits tend to go down along with the temperature.)

“Attention,” Enjolras spoke outwardly through the low murmur of the Amis who immediately fell silent at his call. He was standing now, unknowingly showing symbolism right before Grantaire’s eyes. Enjolras was above everyone, no matter how hard he fought for equality nothing could change that. He was a beacon of light behind the dark aura that he had been cursed with at birth. Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t rise above everyone, power and superiority pooling off of him like a natural essence.

“I don’t expect it to be shocking or revolutionary news that I called you all here today. I am grateful that you all were able to take time out of your schedule to meet here today--despite it not being our regular meeting time. I wanted to establish this as soon as possible and this weekend seemed too far away for my tastes, if I’m being honest.” Enjolras continued, all eyes on him strictly. “I’m introducing, formally of course, a new member to the Amis. Jehan, if you will,”

At Enjolras’ beckon, Jehan froze in his seat. It was only when Courfeyrac, easily the most comforting and easy-going in the entire group, gave him a helpful nudge and allowed him harmless aura to seep out of the hand on Jehan’s shoulder that Jehan worked up the courage to clear his throat, “Hello everyone. Um, I’m Jehan Prouvaire, um, but Jehan is okay. Or my last name--I don’t mind either way. Uh,--yeah, I mean,” the boy’s gaze shifted down to Courfeyrac, his finger fumbling nervously in his lap, and Grantaire honestly couldn’t say he was surprised. Courfeyrac’s aura was charming, calming, and overall addicting to anyone the man happened to pass by. If Jehan was going to get close to any of the Amis in such a short amount of time, of course it would be Courfeyrac.

When Courfeyrac just smiled and gave him a go on gesture with his hands, Jehan gulped, “I’m from Valris, a tiny sector about sixty miles away from here but I never really fit in or have had any reason to feel attached to that home. So, um, what I’m trying to say is--thanks for letting me join you guys and such. It’s--It’s a tremendous honor, really. I adore the work that you guys have done here.”

When Jehan was done the room fell into a eery realm of silence before bursting into mild cheers. Courfeyrac clapped Jehan on the back, who was already blushing profusely. Combeferre gave him a small smile from his seat next to Enjolras’ towering form and Bahorel ordered another round of drinks before barking at Courfeyrac and Joly to go home and make more salt-laced fries. 

Grantaire even managed to give Jehan a small smile over the rim of his glass when he caught his eye. Jehan beamed at him, obviously ecstatic and grateful that he hadn’t already forgotten him before being dragged back into several conversations by most of t Amis. Combeferre and Enjolras noticeably hang back, their voices hushed and unexplainable through the number of tables between the two parties.

“Where did you get that sweater?” Courfeyrac asked, pulling on the hem of his sleeve. “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“Um, I made it actually.” Jehan said, shyly. He raised his arms and let the fabric drape over him, “Obviously it came out a little bigger than intended--my measuring skills are atrocious--but--”

Courfeyrac waved him off easily, “Don’t be silly, you look darling. Have another fry...or a drink!”

“Is he old enough to drink?” Joly asked, looking skeptical at Bossuet’s side.

Bahorel just laughed, setting down a large tray of shots filled with strange green liquids with large, obvious air bubbles floating within them. “Nonsense, drinking with friends shouldn’t have an age. Right Grantaire?”

Grantaire easily joined them, “Damn straight,” His eyes once again locked with Jehan, “Afraid I would never see you again, sweetie. How was being interrogated by a real-life, angry Sun God for a week? Exhilarating?”

In response to Grantaire, Marius’ choked on whatever he was drinking, immediately coughing it back up while Cosette patted him on the back, a sympathetic smile on her face. Jehan just offered Grantaire a smile, his shoulders hunching over on himself, “Um, well it--I mean,”

“Don’t bother answering,” Bossuet said, reaching for a glass and being extra careful not to spill it’s content. “R can be a little shit, a good little shit, but don’t answer his questions if it’s gonna get you in trouble.”

Jehan visibly released a sigh, his shoulders slouching, “It’s fine, it’s just--I’ll be honest for a while I couldn’t talk while in um, in his presence. But,” His eyes shifted towards Grantaire, just as wide and earnest as Grantaire remembers them, “Enjolras is a very insightful and good human being, R. I-I was terrified at first but--”

“Aren’t we all?” Grantaire said, cheekily. “You don’t have to tell me, dear Jehan, I’m very aware.”

Courfeyrac eyed Grantaire from across the table, his eyebrows pulled in with concern, before returning to Jehan, “Enough about us, tell us more about yourself Jehan and your foreign land. None of us have really left the border, no need to really, and are pretty uneducated when it comes to other wordly things.”

Jehan smiled, exposing his bright white teeth before diving into conversation. Jehan spoke with a passion close to that of Enjolras’, but not angry passion but just endearing vulnerability in general. Everything to the fields of his homeland to the weather to the professions were explained in such great detail that Grantaire almost felt like he was there, standing in the middle of Jehan’s land that was overrun by greenery but also very corrupt with poor, cheap machinery in attempts to catch up with other lands’ levels of production. He explained that his homeland used to be once centered upon spiritual magic and focused mainly on the environmental aspect that can be brought out with that kind of magic as well, but in recent years has become corrupt and is slowly dying out--a fate that Yukkith had yet to receive and hopefully never will. 

At one point during the discussion Enjolras left the Musain. Or, to be more specific, Enjolras and Combeferre left. Enjolras’ lingering presence and striking aura could no longer be sensed like a thick, black blanket over the room. No one felt necessarily inclined to go after them, if it was important Enjolras would’ve told them where they were going.

“So,” Jehan began again, a little out of breathe from his first rant about the various dictators and rulers that had taken over his homeland within the recent years. Grantaire had grinned at that part of the story because of course. He had definitely talked to Enjolras about this, that was obvious enough. Taking down broken down and corrupt governments was kinda his thing. “I couldn’t really do much with herbs anymore--or any plant life for that matter. Our forests were dying out and being tainted by unholy magic so I decided to put my passion elsewhere.”

“Oh?” Joly asked, slightly tipsy from chugging one too many of the glasses filled with the mysterious green liquid. “And what is that?”

Jehan grinned, bright and wide, “I study the magical aspects of soulbonding.”

And oh--Grantaire had forgotten about that.

It was hard to pretend no eyes were on him now because they definitely all were. Uneasy and fragile looks of...whatever were scattered across each of his friend’s face as they gazed at him, either from over the rim of their glass or directly at him, it didn’t matter. The sting and sudden awkwardness at the turn of conversation was still there despite Grantaire’s best efforts to brush it off by seemingly popping another fry into his mouth.

Bossuet was the first to break the silence, “That’s a thing?”

Joly good-naturedly popped him on the backside of his side, shushing him immediately. Jehan looked extremely disturbed by this, taken aback even as he replied, “Wait--I mean, I know it isn’t a huge department, believe me I know--but you guys really don’t have anything here? No one is the slightest bit curious about a form of magic we literally have zero knowledge about? In my land, soul bonding is highly respected and the utmost--””

Grantaire laughed, shocking everyone with the choked and broken sound, “Oh, sweetie, magic itself in general can never truly be explained. The more we try to rationalize it--this aura within ourselves-- the more it fades away. Trying to dig up secrets on a element that shouldn’t exist is foolish and not even worth our time. It’s better to just be thankful for what we got and keep our traps shut about the rest.”

Bahorel snorted, smiling, “Inciteful as ever, R.”

Grantaire raised his drink at that, declaring a celebratory cheer to Jehan’s new invitation to join the Les Amis, but mostly he just wanted another excuse to down another shot. No one declined and readily raised their drinks, drunken smiles on most of all their faces when they all tossed back the contents.

Everyone except for Jehan who hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol that entire night and was looking at Grantaire like a specimen--something to be poked and prodded and figured out. The stare, while unsettling, didn’t really phase Grantaire as Bahorel ordered another round of drinks.

~~~

Flashback

A year ago…

Musichetta and Feuilly could work magic together. Literal magic. Not just in their both expertise cooking skills and natural hard-working natures, but actually be able to blend their auras into something beautiful. It wasn’t like they were closer to each other than any of the other Amis. If anything, Musichetta fell more in step with Bossuet and Joly whenever they went out drinking while Feuilly would rather hang out at Bahorel’s and play video games while eating three day old pizza. Their magical capabilities matched up in such a way though that watching them exchange auras was mystical.

“Again!” Courfeyrac laughed, clapping his hands obnoxiously as Bahorel just grinned by his side while looking about two seconds away from joining in on the hollering. “Do it again. Encore! Encore!”

Musichetta laughed, her aura spiking gleefully until it was a whole other entity in the room. Feuilly was only a table or two away, chuckling silently to himself. When it came to the amount of aura each person had, Musichetta beat Feuilly by a landslide. Joy and good feelings leaked out of every pore of Musichetta while Feuilly, who was just as capable, seemed more reserved. Still, that didn’t stop them from making meaningful eye contact with one another at Courfeyrac’s words.

“Shall we?” Musichetta said, holding up her palms so her bright pink nails were hidden from plain view. Her various chains and necklaces rattled against her neck, some hanging low enough that Grantaire worried they would get snagged on something and break. 

Feuilly beamed back at her, his brownish, orange hair flopping lazily over his eyes. He hastily pushed it out of the way before straightening his brown, faded jacket, “Ready when you are.”

And then Grantaire felt the room exploded with magic. Musichetta and Feuilly’s affinities were both light magic, being able to manipulate what the human eye could see. And see Grantaire, and presumably the others, did. Hints of sunlight, bright and shining, lit up through the Musain’s foggy windows while animals, apparitions like Grantaire had never seen before, jumped and galloped within inches of his table. A dragon with the body like the snake and a large snout slithered its way from under the kitchen door and made its way promptly to rest on Bahorel’s shoulders. Cosette had flowers, white and glowing, gathering in her hair and around her faded pink skirt. Even Grantaire could spot a few markings, tattoo ideas he had been discussing with Bossuet and Feuilly earlier in the week, appear on his forearms, moving and jumping off his skin excitedly. He saw glints of red and gold circling around his head and snubbed up around his shoes and sighed before glaring Musichetta’s way who looked far too innocent for Grantaire not to be suspicious. 

And then, the room fell deathly silent as the apparitions faded away leaving the room feeling dark and empty. Negative energy had cast them away, not from Feuilly or Musichetta who were wielding the shapes, but from another party that had just the same impact. Courfeyrac.

Everyone could feel and therefore everyone’s eyes fell upon him in worry. Courfeyrac though had his eyes pinned to the floor, his shoulders heaving, and his aura spiking in panicky gestures. Marius was at his side in an instant as well as Bossuet, the two that were the least magically capable and therefore couldn’t feel the true horror radiating off of Courfeyrac.

As soon as Marius’ hand landed on his shoulder, Courfeyrac bolted upright, his eyes wide and glistening, “Something isn’t right,” his voice sounded hoarse, “Something isn’t--where is--”

Just then Joly burst in through the Musain doors. He was sweating, his aura spiking so erratically Grantaire was surprised he didn’t feel it from a mile away. His hair was a mess and his hand wreaked of dark aura and blood.

Bahorel was the first to speak, “Joly, what’s wrong?”

Joly just shook his head, his chest heaving horribly, “It’s Enjolras.”

Grantaire can feel all the air leave his lungs, leaving him feeling more hollow and empty then even. Like something irreplaceable has already been ripped out of his grasp.  
~~~

Present...

 

“What? Like an empath, then?”

Courfeyrac shrugged, not really sure how to answer the rumbling blonde boy beside him. Grantaire let out another trail of smoke from between his lips and watched as it wafted into the air, blending into the back round soon enough before he could really get a chance to manipulate it. He took another long drag from the cigarette between his fingers. Eponine would be upset--this was her last box that Musichetta was willing to offer her this week. The need for relief though, a calming escape of the sorts, pulled at Grantaire’s chest though and even Courfeyrac’s calming aura (and Jehan’s surprisingly energetic one--a fact Grantaire had learned over the two weeks he had been in the young blonde’s company) could keep him down for too long.

Jehan had grown on Grantaire over the past couple weeks--and obviously on the rest of the Amis too. Even Eponine didn’t mind being stuck in a room with him during a full meeting and that was saying something. Jehan is nice, sweet, and everything about his aura was so lively and gleeful that it was no surprise that people were drawn to him. He spoke with such beautiful and careful words, like a true poet, and didn’t hesitate to share his beliefs that in his homeland he would’ve been punished for--but here? Enjolras looked like he almost wanted to smile whenever he agreed with one of his ideas. 

Even so, Grantaire couldn’t help but feel like there was something a little off about the whole situation. Sure, Jehan was harmless and anyone with eyes could see that as plain as day, but to let him in so easily, so carelessly accept him without a second thought was--

Well, it was very not like Enjolras. And, if anyone knew Enjolras, it was certainly Grantaire. Hell, his soul was literally bound to his.

No matter what he did though, no matter how often he tried to catch a glimpse of hesitation in Enjolras’s stance during meeting. Or, a pang of regret or cautiousness in his chest whenever Enjolras looked Jehan’s way. It--It never came. If anything, Grantaire felt like Enjolras was acting so normal that the act of being normal was starting to become strange.

The angry passion, the irritation, the seriousness--everything that made Enjolras, well, Enjolras still reverberated in Grantaire’s chest daily like a steady heartbeat and for once Grantaire couldn’t tell if he was comforted or worried about that fact.

For once, he felt like he couldn’t read Enjolras. He didn’t know exactly what he was feeling. A feeling he hadn’t felt since The Incident. And, as much as Grantaire hated to admit it, not feeling Enjolras was clearly throwing him off.

“I guess you could say I’m an empath, maybe,” Courfeyrac said, taking a bite out of his sandwich causing a trail of yellow paste to spill out of the opposite side. He chewed, spitting out words between his bites, “I’ve always been better at understanding emotions than other magic-users I’ve met. But I’ve talked to Joly about it and while he does agree I have a knack for relating to others, he isn’t completely convinced it’s magically influenced or if I’m just incredibly charming.”

“How would Joly know?” Jehan asked, wincing at his bluntness, “I mean--not that I don’t believe in his good judgment but--”

“He’s with Bossuet--and Musichetta who is a step under Enjolras if anyone is ever going to be--but Bossuet isn’t really a magic-user. Sure, he has an aura that can be read and affected by others and all that good shit, but he’s never really had a knack for any kind of magic. Still, magic or not, Bossuet is just as good at telling when someone is down as well as I can.”

Grantaire snorted at that, stubbing out his stick in the ashtray, “Don’t listen to him, Jehan. He’s being modest. Bossuet can tell when I need a beer and that is about as far as his telepathic empath abilities go. You, on the other hand, can make a person feel as right as rain in a room full of angry lions.”

Courfeyrac grinned his way from across the booth, “Are you talking from personal experience my friend?”

“Of course,” Grantaire answered, earning a smile from Jehan. “You were the one who dragged me to my first meeting at the Musain which is filled with terrifying people.”

“Okay, I get Enjolras but…”

“And Musichetta.”

“Yeah, of course, but--”

“And Eponine.”

“Oh shit. Yeah--”

“Cosette.”

“...R--”

“And don’t forget, the most terrifying of all,” Grantaire grinned at him and Courfeyrac slumped into his seat, defeated.

“Combeferre.” He finished, completely serious because yeah Combeferre is terrifying when he wants to be. Easily.

A few minutes into their lunch hour (Courfeyrac and Grantaire work in the same department so it really wasn’t that much of a burden to stop by Jehan’s apartment every now and then and take him out to lunch, exploring the city and all) Grantaire began to feel an itch under his skin.

He ignored it at first, focusing most his attention on Jehan as he talked way too excitedly about snapdragons and some sort of tree that Grantaire had never heard of that apparently has magical sap. The itch began to spread though until it lay on the bottom of his stomach, growing and manifesting into something that made Grantaire feel queasy. He set his burger down, suddenly feeling less than admament on eating another bite in hopes that it'll settle the sudden feeling of unrest in his stomach. 

Courfeyrac noticed first, probably because of the empath shit he denied all the time, and frowned, “You alright, R? Burger settled wrong in ya?”

“I guess--” Grantaire started but was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming tugging sensation in his chest. One so strong that Grantaire found himself stepping out of the booth and heading towards the door before he could really say much. He only stopped at the sound of Jehan’s voice calling out to him:

“Grantaire, where are you going?”

“I’m,” where was he going? He swallowed, the tugging in his chest continued and practically shouted at Grantaire to come. Come. Come here. 

“Let him be, Jehan.” Courfeyrac said, easy as ever even though he probably knew exactly what was happening. If he did, he didn't show it and instead waved Grantaire goodbye before pulling a skeptical Jehan back into a conversation. 

Grantaire didn't even have time to throw him a grateful look before exiting the diner. 

~~~

Enjolras was leaning up against his apartment complex, a cherry scented cigarette hanging from his lips as he waited. He was still wearing his stupid gloves with the fingers cut out. He didn't even look up at Grantaire as he approached. 

Grantaire huffed, “You called...your majesty. Oh, and must I remind you. The royal guard told me it was crucial to inform you that there is this neat invention called a cell phone. I believe you have one that you could just call me with instead of--”

That earned Grantaire a glare that he couldn't help but return with a smile. Yes. Enjolras just rolled his eyes at him, obviously feeling Grantaire's amusement about the whole situation. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras started, obviously not sounding too happy. Typical. 

Grantaire looked up at him, knowing full well that looking dead on into the sun was dangerous but--what could he say? He was a risk taker and it wasn’t everyday that Enjolras wanted to talk to him by his own violation. Grantaire would be lying if he were to say he wasn’t a little intrigued to hear what he had to say.

Enjolras was standing over him, looking displeased, cigarette still carefully balanced in between his scarred fingers. Grantaire managed a half-assed smile, “Yes?”

“Where’s Eponine?” Enjolras asked, his eyes never leaving Grantaire’s. His arms were folded across the front of her chest tightly, a stance Grantaire was all too familiar with that meant he wasn’t fucking around. Then again--when was Enjolras ever fucking around?

Grantaire shrugged, “She didn’t wanna come.”

“What?”

“Are you deaf, Apollo? She had been working all week. She's met Jehan. It’s not that big of a deal.” 

Enjolras didn't even have to elaborate that he wasn't talking about Eponine’s whereabouts now. He meant two weeks earlier at Jehan's introduction at the mandatory meeting Eponine had said fuck that to. To be honest Grantaire didn’t even need the bond between them to know that Enjolras was upset about this. He had seen him glaring and sulking in the corner of the Musain a couple minutes before the meeting even started, slowly counting the number of people in the room over and over again in annoyance.

Enjolras shifted, taking another drag before squeezing the tip of the stick and letting it crumble in between his fingers by just surrounding it with his aura. He let out one last puff of smoke, the bright red cherry becoming all too obvious while wafting in the mid-morning air. Grantaire couldn't help but smile at that, shifting up and down on the balls of his feet, “Cherry essence? How cute.”

“Have to bear it somehow.” Enjolras said bitterly, and Grantaire winced. Sometimes he forgot that Enjolras hated smoking and had never been interested in it until The Incident. It was a shitty after effect of their half-assed bond thing and Grantaire couldn't help but be a little grateful. 

Out of all of Grantaire’s horrible habits that he possessed, smoking was definitely one of the least harmful that Enjolras could've been forced to take on in order to create somewhat of an equilibrium between the two. It wasn’t a choice, for neither of them really, to smoke. Grantaire had been addicted since he was twelve and thought making shapes out of the smoke was the most entertaining and extraordinary thing his magic was able to accomplish. But if the bond wanted them both of them to smoke--it wasn’t like they could just brush off the urging needs in their chests to do so. It was infuriating really, how little power and knowledge they had over it.

Grantaire bit down on his lip, a sudden pang in his chest told him exactly what he needed to know but he still felt it polite to ask, “Is Ferre still worried? You know she hates being pitied. Especially by him.”

Enjolras bristled, “How can one be angry about someone else worrying about them when they are obviously showing signs of distress?”

Grantaire wanted to laugh because of course Enjolras would think like that…

“It's Eponine,” Grantaire said instead, shrugging. “She doesn't wanna be looked down on as weak. And, don't get me wrong, she likes Ferre and all. Probably more than she would admit--”

“I know.” Enjolras stepped in and oh yeah, of course he knows. Grantaire knew which, in short, meant in one way shape or another that Enjolras knew. 

“Then,” Grantaire started, awkwardly eyeing his apartment building. “Why are we here?”

Enjolras followed his gaze for a brief moment, his eyes a silvery blue against the clouded sky above, “I thought we needed to talk.”

“Oh joy,” Grantaire hated talking with Enjolras. Oh sure, he could listen to the man rant for hours and hours over naive and useless ideals, but when it came to face-to-face actually fucking talking--Grantaire felt lost. His tongue would twist up and all of the self consciousness and self doubt he had buried under years of therapy would suddenly resurface because Enjolras just wasn’t somebody. And, in retrospective, he had never been just anybody. Not to Grantaire.

But they were bound, whether they liked it or not that was their predicament. This meant that Grantaire was open, unprotected by anything and practically a book Enjolras was free to sift through whenever he liked. Grantaire gave him that ability, unintentionally of course, but the thought of Enjolras digging around in his mind, unleashing all of the bad memories Grantaire had blocked out still terrified him. Who knows what Enjolras would find inside his fucked up head--God knows the stuff he already knows about it horrible enough. 

This ‘ability’ only grew worse whenever they became close. Hence, why Grantaire tried his best to keep clear of the blonde at all costs….as far as he could be anyway.

Enjolras gave him a sour look, “You aren’t in trouble, Grantaire.”

“Oh, well then thank goodness for that too. I'll call Courfeyrac and let him know you didn’t drag me all the way out here to curse me for being a nonbeliever.” Grantaire replied, taking uneasy steps forward, already unconsciously knowing that Enjolras didn’t plan on hanging in front of Grantaire’s apartment too long now that he knew Eponine wasn’t there. Grantaire turned back, “Coming? We can have ourselves a nice picnic and chat.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes at that, but took a couple long strides in order to catch up with him.

They walked in silence for a while and Grantaire felt the strangest feeling of anxious nerves but also a relaxing hum pulsing through him with every step. Being with Enjolras was always confusing. This was mostly due to the fact that Grantaire could never decide if he wanted to be pressed up against his side or in a completely different realm than him.

“So,” Grantaire started, not being able to indulge in the questionably comfortable silence for a second longer. “How is saving the world going?

Enjolras let out a long sigh in response, “Really?”

Grantaire gave a little shrug, “Just curious man. You can be quite mysterious when you put your mind to it. I never know what diabolical plans you, Courf, and Ferre are coming up with behind closed doors. For all I know you could be constructing a giant, completely magic-powered robot that is designed to take down any forms of corrupt government and bring the power back to the people. You guys could each have your own little bots, and--and then form together to create a giant one--”

“Jesus,” Enjolras breathed, rolling his eyes. “If you listened to half of the things we say during the meeting maybe, just maybe, you would have a solid idea on what we are trying to achieve.”

Grantaire snorted at that, following Enjolras when he suddenly took a sharp left turn up a random street, “Uh-huh, I think I’ll leave the planning on how to take down the entire magical board of directors in Skaghatin up to you. I’m just the pretty face of the group. Let’s be honest.”

“You can help us you know,” and Enjolras said it with so much hope, so much naive hope that Grantaire almost wanted to believe it. “You have a place in the Les Amis and you take it for granted most of the times. I’m not saying we don’t appreciate you--” Yeah Grantaire, the few bursts of physical magic you use to make the sky look like symbols of peace aren’t not helpful at all or anything… “, but there is always more work to be done.”

“Ah yes, a new cause to tackle, and new government system to trample. Another band of brutes to kidnap me. Another group of crazies who think that you are made up of rare gemstones--”

“Irelevent.” Enjolras said. “And don’t act like we are a bunch of mindless radicals--” mindless radicals. Your words not mine, buddy. “--, we are striving towards a better outcome for everyone. And, if that means taking down those who want to destroy using power--or even reject magical power and create their own weapons of destruction--then they must be dealt with accordingly. If we went around taking down every territory with different ideals, a different way of life, than what we do here in Yukkith then--well, there would only be Yukkith. No diversity, no change in magical influence or specialties. We need different opinions and different ideas to bring us all together, Grantaire. Different sectors of magic are the key to this planet’s survival, along with our own. I’m not claiming that we are trying to dismantle every establishment that isn’t like ours--no, that would make us border lining terrorists and dictators if we just went around taking down places that disagree with the natural flow of life. I wouldn’t interfere with groups of people like that if that is what made them feel happy and equal. It is only when a certain sector, or certain territory, becomes corrupted and the people there are being forgotten, their magic is carelessly being thrown away, and their land is being uprooted and smothered of all it’s good--”

“Like Jehan’s home?” Grantaire interrupted, and couldn’t help the pang of guilt that went through his chest at the loss of hearing Enjolras’ words. Grantaire could listen to Enjolras for hours. No matter how naive and foolish he sounded. His voice was like a symphony of calmness to Grantaire’s frazzled nerves.

“Yes.” Enjolras answered, easily. “Jehan has told me about this foreign land and--”

“And you plan to deal with it...accordingly, of course.” Grantaire smirked.

“Yes.” Enjolras said, halting his footsteps. Grantaire stopped a couple paces ahead of him, taken aback by the sudden stop. He looked around, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

“Where are we...a park? Jesus,” When Enjolras threw Grantaire a disapproving glare at him, Grantaire’s only reaction was to smile, “you sap.”

Enjolras bristled, “It’s a nice day out. I figured if we have to talk we might as well enjoy the outdoors.”

If we have to talk. Again, your words, not mine.

“What are we discussing today, chief?” Grantaire asked, following Enjolras deeper into the small, seemingly empty playground area with fresh cut grass and the familiar smell of mildew wafting in the air. It was cozy, Grantaire wouldn’t mind hanging out here sometime on his own. Maybe bring his sketchbook and hope on some warmer day that a flock of birds might come in to appease him.

As the question left Grantaire’s mouth though, he already had a sinking feeling he knew what the topic of the day was going to be. For once, he wished Enjolras had actually summoned him to scold him about some stupid thing he did.

(“Grantaire, stop--stop...yes, that. Whatever that is just--yeah, stop it. It’s horribly distracting. Just. Sit there. Sit there and don’t move and stop being--ugh.” This was usually how those conversations went down. Grantaire didn’t blame him--he felt the same way ninety percent of the time. Who knew it would be so hard to be bonded to someone you didn’t know at all.)

Enjolras gave him a look, “We’re here to discuss our new visitor and what this means for us.”

Great, Grantaire thinks, just what I fucking needed. More input on how horrible and terrifying and wrong their bond it. 

Grantaire sighed, “Really? I mean--don’t give me that look, idiot--I’m just saying, okay? Fantine has already told us everything she knows and, granted it isn’t much, but she is like the smartest person I know and I doubt Jehan will have anything more insightful to say. Remember, I talked to this kid for a couple hours a couple weeks ago. He seemed as clueless as Fantine normally is when talking about soulbonding. He may even be more clueless than her.”

Grantaire shuddered at the memory of Jehan mentioning the word soulmates. 

“Did you ask him specifically about our situation?” Enjolras asked and Grantaire--well, Grantaire didn’t know what to say to say to that. Shit.

“Um,” He started, giving Enjolras the answer easily enough. He straightened, shaking his massive curls out from behind his ears as a rough breeze of wind came blowing in, “Look, that doesn’t matter--”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Getting input, especially from a person from a different region, can be far more insightful than--”

“Uh-huh, more people to judge and tell us how fucked up our situation is. Look, ask him about soulmates and soulbonding all you want, but leave me and--Wait, you didn’t--oh shit, Enjolras, you didn’t. I swear if you uttered one word about--

Enjolras’s nose scrunched up in confusion before his face returned to normal, stoic and serious, “What? I didn’t w--”

“Tell him, God!” Grantaire said, slightly exasperated. “Enough fucking people know about it already.”

Enjolras gaze lowered on him, like Grantaire was a tiny gnat buzzing around his head. It felt all too surreal, even for someone as nonchalant and go with whatever the fuck is happening to you as Grantaire was. Standing in the middle of the park...with Enjolras...discussing shit he would rather leave buried and forgotten ten feet underground. It wasn’t worth bringing up, not when they could do nothing about it besides endure it.

Enjolras didn’t answer him, just went and sat on a red, plastic bench that was being perfectly shaded by the large trees surrounding it. The leaves were growing brittle and turning a deep shade of brown, it was only a matter of time before the trees became barren and the city was once again ambushed by a bunch of rampant, dead leaves.

Grantaire thought about following him, and really, he should be rewarded for just thinking about it considering his lack of sleep and level of frustration. He crossed his arms over his chest, “What did he say?”

Enjolras glared at him and--oh. Grantaire took a step back, a reflexive instinct that if he hadn’t been standing literally five feet away he would’ve missed the way Enjolras flinched at the involuntary action. He bristled, “You really think that low of me, don’t you?”

“No,” Grantaire said because okay guy I’ve literally been worshipping the ground that you walk on for four years. You keep thinking that.

“I made you a promise.” Enjolras said, like it physically pained him to do so. “I wouldn’t go back on it no matter how idiotic and unnecessary I find it. If it’s what you need--to keep this a secret for--”

“I don’t need anything, Enjolras.” Grantaire explained, a little hotly. “I just don’t see the point in going around and telling people who have nothing to do about this that--”

Enjolras was already talking by the time the word ‘nothing’ slipped past Grantaire’s lips, “Jehan has been studying cases like ours for far longer than Fantine, and probably anyone else in this city. He has information that we don’t know about yet--loopholes, Grantaire.”

“Bullshit,” Grantaire muttered, “Jehan is a kid. He can barely hold down one drink from Musichetta, and I know Musichetta is capable of making drinks that can literally put you flat on your ass, but still--he’s a kid, Enjolras. No matter what he told you when you had him locked up for taking me he probably just said it because you terrify--”

“That isn’t true.” Enjolras pushed forward, his shoulders drawing back and his posture becoming tight once again. He was sitting, Grantaire was standing, but somehow he still felt so low compared to the other man. The feeling was unsettling, to say the least. “Jesus Grantaire, are you really so opposed to trying to figure out a way to fix this? To get your life back to the way it’s supposed to be? Why are you so against everything that can only benefit you in the long run?”

Because it won’t benefit me if you end up dying because of it. Grantaire swallowed, “I guess I’m just a lazy piece of shit, Apollo. Or, you know, the whole ‘not believing in anything ever turning out good’ troupe probably comes into play at times--”

“Jehan doesn’t know about our situation,” Enjolras cut it, his aura bursting off of his skin and tempting Grantaire forward with a dangerous lure. “but, if he did, if you allowed me to explain the situation in depth to him--”

“Is that why I’m here?” Grantaire blurted out, shaking his head. “Since when do you need my fucking opinion for anything? If you think Jehan can do something, which I guarantee you he can’t but that’s on you, then go for it. Ask him. Tell him all the juicy details about our fucked up magical piece of shit if you are so eager to put yourself in danger again by doing something reckless and stupid. I’m sorry you feel so inclined to break this off that you are willing to risk both of our lives. Why does Jehan even think he’s here, huh? Did you--you didn’t fucking force him to stay. Fucking hell, E, I swear if you--”

“Of course not!” Enjolras said, exasperated. His eyes were icy blue picks, each one piercing Grantaire with a new, intense wave of nausea. His palms felt sweaty and he knew he was working Enjolras up. It is what he did best. But an angry Enjolras is never good to be around ever. “Jehan offered. I wouldn’t have even suggested this if he didn’t.”

“And what are you suggesting, great leader?” Grantaire drawled, trying to sound amused when really panic was swelling deep within his gut. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Enjolras snapped, rising from his spot to stand in front of Grantaire. Grantaire’s first instinct was to step back, to give the greater force more space, but he held his ground on sheer will alone. Enjolras would never admit it, but people fearing him made him more angry than any unsocial justice scandal in any region could. The least Grantaire could do was act like he didn’t want to bolt during any conversation they had. Enjolras continued, “I want to fix this. This--”

“I believe the word you are looking for is mistake. Act of idiocy. Reckless endangerment on yourselves and those around you? If you wanna be gutsy.” 

Enjolras sighed heavily, “Do you always have to be like this--this--”

“Yes.” Grantaire said with a smirk because that was the truth.

Enjolras gave him a hard look after that, but said nothing more as he walked Grantaire home. There was nothing else to be said. Sure, Grantaire could easily tell Enjolras knew more than him about something. Something that had to do with Jehan and that was intriguing enough that it made Enjolras actually want to willingly talk about their situation. But Grantaire would never push it out of him. One because in the very depths of himself he realized he didn’t care, like at all. He had accepted his new way of life long ago but Enjolras still wasn’t convinced. And second, if it was something big enough Enjolras was bound to spit it out sometime. He never was good at keeping things to himself. 

~~~

Flashback…

“It’s Enjolras.” Joly said, exasperated. “Chetta--I don’t know I just--I’ve never seen anything like it and Ferre thinks you could--”

“Where is he?” Musichetta stood up, her voice oddly controlled in such a time. Grantaire, through the haze of panic that had already taken ahold of him, was reminded once again of Musichetta’s superior abilities. “Take me to him right now, Joly. Come on, hun. It’s gonna be okay.”

Musichetta was quick to wrap her arms around the smaller man’s shoulders as he shook, mumbling nonsense to her. Or perhaps, it wasn’t nonsense at all. Perhaps Grantaire’s brain couldn’t even process information anymore between all of the white noise of panicking sounding through his mind.

“Ferre said he tried something--” Joly said while Musichetta steered him out the door, nearly everyone else falling into step behind them. “--it’s--it’s magic formed into a shape even Ferre can’t grasp or control. It’s--It’s inside him and tearing his magic apart and-and right out of him and-Chetta I--!”

“Calm down. Take me to him right now.” Musichetta said, looking back at the group. “Bahorel, Feuilly--you guys go get Fantine. Run if you have to but Eponine isn’t here to teleport you.So be quick.” The two didn’t have to be told twice and took off down the street in a hurried sprint. “Cosette, Marius, and Bossuet go warn Valjean and whatever other higher ups are on duty today that the city needs to be ready for an evacuation whenever I give a signal--”

“An evacuation?” Cosette repeated, her eyes blown wide.

“Yes.” Musichetta said, her tone grave before shifting her gaze. “R, Courf--you’re coming with me and Joly.”

Courfeyrac, who was still a sickly green color, nodded before following Musichetta and Joly down the busy streets. Grantaire was frozen, too shell-shocked to even move, before Courfeyrac gave an insistent tug on his arm and prompted him to keep up.

It didn’t take long for him to feel it. The overwhelming power that was Enjolras with no restraint. They had only ran to the edge of city limits and just started into the wooded regions and Grantaire already felt slightly nauseous. 

All his mind was screaming at him though was: Enjolras. Enjolras. Enjolras. On a vicious cycle that played over in over sending him more and more down the drain of insanity. Enjolras had always been reckless, especially when it came to magic, but he was never an idiot. He knew when he took it too far and would act accordingly to fix it. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt people and if that meant containing everything that was him then he would do it in a heartbeat.

But now, Grantaire could feel it around him, Enjolras’ aura swam through the forest and infected whatever it came into contact with. The sickly, black mist coated the grass and turned it a brownish gray color while the mid afternoon sky darkened in contrast. Grantaire couldn’t help but think once again how such a deathly presence could lie inside such a beacon of glimmering hope. The only thing he ever found was worth believing in.

Joly collapsed somewhere along the side of the trail, the mist being too much for him to handle. The world jolted when he landed on his knees and Musichetta let out a concealed yelp as he curled in on himself. Courfeyrac was at his side immediately, dropping down to his knees and running a soothing hand over his forehead. when Musichetta approached them, looking oddly strangled at being surrounded by the same pulsing aura, Courfeyrac shook his head, “Go Chetta! He’ll be fine. I’ll--I’ll carry him out just--Go!”

Musichetta grasped Grantaire’s hand, a plea to stay by her side even if he physically wasn’t able to, like Joly. Grantaire squeezed back, feeling Musichetta’s aura mix with his own and he realized she was just as terrified as he was.

They ran on, hand in hand and feeding off of the other’s strength, before they finally felt the power of the earth rest upon their shoulders. Grantaire knew Enjolras was powerful, hell everyone did. If they way he spoke and presented himself wasn’t enough, even when holding back Enjolras still burst open with flames and strength radiating off of him. That was when he was holding back, anyone could adjust to being around Enjolras when he was holding back, but--but not like this. Grantaire had never felt Enjolras let go before.

With no restraint, Enjolras was a mass of destruction in aura form. Black whips of heat traveled up and down Grantaire’s spine, wrapped around his ankles and sank into his mouth and nose like it was about to swallow him up. Musichetta next to him, easily ten times the magic user he was, was struggling to stay on her own two feet as well. It was only when his eyes landed on Enjolras, laying flat on his back with his eyes wide and shining a glowing white, that he remembered why he was there at all. Why so much pain and fear was being pumped in and out of him the longer he stood there.

Musichetta came back faster, her hand tearing away from Grantaire’s as she rushed to a figure only feet away, lying in a mass of limbs on the grass. Grantaire didn’t even recognize Combeferre at first, his dark skin somehow less vibrant, his face stone still and absent to the world. His glasses were nowhere to be seen and Musichetta wasted no time dropping to her knees at his side, gently taking his face within her palms. Grantaire felt bile rising in his throat; Combeferre was even more magically inept than Joly who had passed out way further down the trail. Why hadn’t he left sooner?

Musichetta was mumbling phrases into Combeferre’s ear, but the man remained unmoving and Grantaire felt completely and utterly useless before his eyes landed on the source of the havoc. Enjolras. Grantaire’s heart clenched tightly in his chest.

He was beautiful, as always, and it shouldn’t have shocked Grantaire that after years of admiring the man from a distance, even in the horrid situation they currently found themselves in, that this was the first thought to run through his mind. He moved, unconsciously almost, to Enjolras’ side as more of his aura floated out of his body in hurtful, unforgiving waves. Each one hitting Grantaire like a new wave of sickness, but nothing seemed to be able to stop Grantaire from pushing forward. Towards a bright, shimmering light in disguise. 

He felt fluid running down his cheeks and for a shocked moment he thought he was crying. When he reached up though, his hand came back a stinging crimson. Blood. 

It wasn’t until Grantaire was on his knees at Enjolras’ side that he noticed the blood, dark and thick and covering his dirty knees. But this time it wasn't from him, not trailing from his nose and eyes, it was Enjolras’s. He didn’t know how the thought didn’t occur to him, probably because even the thought felt like a horrid, incomprehensible dream that sent Grantaire into a pool of denial and regret, but Enjolras was dying. Dying. Being torn away from this world and Grantaire could see it happening right in front of him. He could see the black wisps of energy racing out of every pour of Enjolras’ body, his life force, followed by blood coating the forest floor.

His blonde hair that Grantaire had drunkenly ran his fingers through too many times to count was losing its natural glow as well as his fair skin the longer Grantaire stared. Blood poured out from between his lips and even though his eyes were shining a vicious white they might as well have been black from how cold and distant they felt. Everything Enjolras was, but not like this; Grantaire couldn’t admire this.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire choked out, ignoring the high pitched noise of pain ringing in his ears. He didn’t understand what he was doing when he laid his hand upon Enjolras’ bare chest, his tattoos glowing underneath his calloused palms, but it felt like touching a burning stove. His body was so cold it burned. Grantaire watched his own skin start rotting away just at the simple contact, his flesh turning a sickly green. But he didn't move, not a fucking inch. The realization hit Grantaire like a freight train:

His chest wasn’t moving, he wasn’t breathing and--and Grantaire panicked. 

Leaning in closer, Grantaire hands traveled from Enjolras’ blood soaked shoulders to his neck and all the way up to his lifeless, angelic face. He was shouting, it had to be him, but the world seemed strangely quiet and in slow motion the longer he thrashed over Enjolras’ form. Enjolras. Enjolras. That was all his mind could scream as he trailed his fingers over edges of the man’s face he had never known before but somehow felt so right under his rotting flesh. His cheeks were wet with blood and his face was warm, but despite the soreness in his throat he screamed on, ignoring the blackness of Enjolras’ life flowing past him, ready to pillage the town Enjolras loved. It all felt so wrong.

The bleeding wouldn’t stop. Neither from him nor Enjolras and Grantaire felt a pang of relief that this sickness might take both of them in the end. 

The mist wouldn’t stop flowing out of him. He was dying. And Grantaire couldn’t do anything.

Never before had he felt so powerless, so useless--

“Don’t you fucking die!” Grantaire growled, digging his fingernails into Enjolras’ skin that was slowly becoming colder and colder. Grantaire’s skin looked like it had been dunked in acid by now, all the way up to his elbows. He didn't care. None of it mattered. 

Grantaire couldn’t control his wrecked voice, tears of blood falling from his face and landing on Enjolras’ chest, “Fuck. Fuck, don’t die. Enjolras, don’t--fuck--! If you die--I can’t...I...not without--”

Grantaire knew Enjolras would die one day. Sooner than later, unfortunately. And, he knew that once the man took his last breath that he would be taking Grantaire along with him. No--Grantaire would follow him willingly. Into the depths of the afterlife. He knew this and yet Enjolras’ death, bright and real in front of him, felt like a stab in the heart.

“Dammit.” Grantaire’s hands tightened, his need to hold onto the only thing he ever fucking bothered to believe in was too great for him to simply suppress. “Dammit. Fucking dammit, dammit, dammit, shit dammit--”

And then. With just one burst of light--

Grantaire took one gulp of air before he felt like his chest was being forced out of himself--his whole body set aflame and Enjolras’ touch--everything melted into nothing--

He watched his hands heal before his eyes. Becoming as good as new. The blood stopped flowing down his cheeks and--

And then it all went wrong.

 

~~~

 

Present…

 

Grantaire woke up with a start. His body was covered in a light sheen of sweat and he felt like the contents in his stomach were soon going to make a reappearance. His back burned wildly in patterns and shapes that shouldn’t be familiar. The searing continued up his arms and faintly reached his neck, choking him. He swallowed between gasps of breath before throwing off his covers like they are physically weighing him down and springing out of his bed.

His bare feet hit the floor roughly, but he didn’t register the pain of stepping on a few trinkets because he was already down the hallway. He didn’t even realize Eponine on their couch, curled up and watching some heist movie, until she got up to meet him by the front door. 

“Hey R, what are you--hey.” Eponine grabbed his arm, pulling him back from the front door he had yanked open. Her face fell when he faced her, “Oh shit.”

“Walk with me?” Grantaire asked, breathless. 

Eponine paused, her face contorted into a worrying frown, before she shook her head. “Yeah. Shoes first though, maybe a jacket as well.”

Grantaire obliged only because somewhere in the depths of his mind that weren’t completely overtaken by the fire radiating down his back and yanking his chest that walking with Eponine’s guidance would be a lot easier than walking alone. Eponine was by his side as they went down the long staircase of their apartment building, the night stars shined through the various windows of the complex reminding Grantaire it was the dead of night. Eponine was on her phone, her voice quiet and quick, but Grantaire could hardly register anything besides the beating in his chest. The loud and rampant beat playing off of his chest that didn’t match his own heartbeat whatsoever. It echoed in his eyes though, calling him in and drowning him in the need to move. To be there. He needed--

Once outside, Grantaire beelined for the sidewalk, but Eponine caught his arm before he could get very far and dragged him around the building. He may have protested, but his feet felt glued to the ground and his tongue felt too heavy to speak properly.

“Eponine, what are--”

“This is faster.” Eponine said, slipping her phone back into her pocket. Her eyes were wide, her hair was pushed up in sloppy bun with tendrils framing her face. Her legs were shaking, but that could’ve just been her fuzzy pajama pants blowing in the night’s wind. “Grab my hands.”

It took Grantaire frazzled mind a few precious seconds to connect what Eponine was trying to do. He gaped at her, “Ep no. This isn’t--come on, I’m not--you can’t--”

“Give me your hands, R. I know what I’m doing.” Eponine didn’t wait for Grantaire to do what she asked and instead reached out and took his calloused hands into her own. 

Grantaire shook his head, “You’re gonna get hurt.”

Only people who showed signs of talent at a very young age were encouraged to partake in an endeavor as risky as teleportation. In a big group teleportation can be as easy as changing the color or texture of an object, but alone it can cause one to get lost. Lose their objective of where they wanted to go and who they are. Losing yourself while teleporting can be catastrophic and few recover and while Eponine, out of all of their friends, had showed the most raw talent in this category--

Grantaire gulped, “Teleportation...it’s--”

“He’s hurt, Grantaire.” Eponine said furiously and Grantaire’s breath hitched. “He would teleport to us if he could. God knows it would be safer that way, but he can’t. Combeferre doesn’t know what’s wrong and the idiot’s only getting worse. Let me do this.”

Eponine had him at the word ‘hurt’. He squeezed her palms, silently encouraging her, before she squeezed back. Their eyes met for a swift moment before Eponine’s irises went black, slowly and methodically. First they glossed over in a hazy gray before growing deeper and turning into a raven black. Her mouth fell open as she let out a silent breath before a sudden warmth enveloped Grantaire’s already flaming body. He closed his eyes on pure instinct, but when he opened them again he found himself week in the knees and standing in the middle of Combeferre and Enjolras’ apartment. 

Enjolras.

Grantaire didn’t even notice Eponine slinking to the floor, releasing her hold on him, nor did he see Combeferre burst out of an adjacent room and scurry past him to Eponine’s side. His mind was clouded, no coherent thoughts reached his brain unless they had to do with Enjolras. Enjolras was all he could see, feel, touch, taste--his aura, hurting and crying out, practically painted the apartment.

Taking in a startled breath, Grantaire raced into the room and was immediately hit by a wave of nostalgia, regret, fear, sadness, doubt, envy, anger, rage--burning rage. He blinked and forced his muscles to move forward, to strive on, until his eyes landed on Enjolras himself.

He was bent over on his knees, head hung low and his shirt was gone. Grantaire took in the black tattoos now glowing down his back, leaking off an essence that made him freeze. The trail followed down his arms and up around the base of his neck. Everything in the room was faded, drained of their natural aura and radiance by Enjolras’ all-consuming one. Grantaire had seen this happen before, but mostly on a small scale.

Enjolras walking by a flower when ranting about something angrily and, in response, the flower would shrivel up and die. Him standing by a building having a bake sale and suddenly all the sweets lost their natural, sugary taste. It made Enjolras mad, furious beyond belief that he couldn’t control this--sucking the life force out of things around him, but it was manageable to an extent.

Now though, with Enjolras curled up on the ground, his shoulders heaving and his body burning with a mist that looked like black fire--Grantaire knew he had never seen Enjolras like this.

Without thinking, Grantaire raced his way, crouching in front of him and drawing two steady hands onto each of his biceps, squeezing him. He shook him a little, trying to get him to look up and acknowledge him all while trying not to choke on the crushing aura surrounding him. Enjolras didn’t stir, didn’t even show a sign he was awake, let alone alive.

Grantaire’s heart rate picked up, steadily becoming more in synch with Enjolras’.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, pushing away the various books and vials around him. Plants (most of them wilting away) and various shrubs in pots were scattered about around him, like some fucked up seance circle. Grantaire tried again, his voice more desperate, “Enjolras, look at me.”

He was absent. Completely zoned out and in his own world. It was too familiar, but Grantaire calmed himself down, if only a little bit, on the single act that he had seen much worse when it came to Enjolras losing control. He wasn’t gone, not yet, just zoned. 

Grantaire didn’t even have to see his eyes to know that they were white. He couldn’t reach him, not even in his own mind, and the thought sent a jolt of panic throughout Grantaire. Constantly feeling Enjolras for an entire year, subconsciously knowing where he was and what he was feeling had taken a while to get used to. Now though, it was stripped away and Grantaire had never felt so barren. So lacking.

Tears formeded at the corners of his eyes as he dropped his head, his forehead touching the top of Enjolras’ mangled curls, startled and terrified at how he was handling this sudden detachment. He breathed, his voice a shaky mess, “Enjolras please, talk to me. Do something. Fucking--Enjolras!”

Nothing.

Grantaire drew back, the pain in his chest suddenly bursting force with a new sense of entitlement, and he flinched. His shaky hands enveloped around Enjolras’ face, bringing his limp head up so that they were eye to eye. Enjolras’ face was dead, completely lifeless and glowed a slight purple due to the veins running throughout his face. His eyes stared at Grantaire, white and emotionless. Grantaire longed for the fire that always seemed present in them.

He pressed his forehead to Enjolras’ once again, unable to control the urge to feel something. He gulped, “Enjolras, please don’t do this. Not again, not--. Please. I-I can’t...I...Enjolras. Enjolras. Enjolras.”

Memories flooded back into Grantaire’s mind of the incident that happened a year ago. Calling out Enjolras’ name and not getting a response. Not being able to feel him even though before Grantaire hadn't even known what Enjolras felt like. The panic and fear swelling deep within him all came rushing back with such force Grantaire almost screamed.

His thumbs dug into Enjolras’ temples and tears begged to spill down his cheeks, but Grantaire refused. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he began to speak again--as clear as he could manage, “And then--then, during the 115th annual conference between--it was held in Skaghatin--the board of directors ruled that all villages, towns, cities, cults, caravans, countries, counties, fucking seperate species, magically influenced or not, had to follow the domesticities and rules explicitly laid out by the courts. All were ordered to answer and allow themselves to be influenced through the wishes of the board of directors. No separation of church or government. A form of oligarchy at its highest and most irreversible. Druids would be lower class citizens, all of them rounded up and taken to the empty lands of Hemolir and forced into a slave system that had been debated by the precinct known as Yukkith--”

“Stop.”

Grantaire stopped, his eyes flying open. Enjolras’ eyes were still white, but his lips were set in a straight line. A look of annoyance that Grantaire knew all too well. “No.” He paused for a moment, breathless and his fingers sweeping relentless circles into Enjolras’ temples before continuing, “Yukkith, the village--city really--only a hundred or so miles away from Hemolir got to choose. They were the first group of people to be able to vote and decide amongst themselves. A democracy where the people got to choose. And their first choice, as a group of free citizens, was that they were okay with the enslavement of druids literally one hundred miles away from them--”

“Stop.”

Grantaire didn’t, not when the white, shimmering light started to flow out of Enjolras’ wide eyes. “Tell me, how could a group of people--a group of people that had just won their own freedom--be so cruel as to allow the imprisonment on another group of people. No one was pressuring them, no one was persuading them to vote a certain way. Unanimously, these ‘freedom-fighters’ allowed druids to be enslaved, raped, killed, and beaten for decades while they pranced around in their own wealth and good fortune. All while using the magic the druids showed them centuries ago.” Grantaire paused, his hands trickled down to Enjolras’ neck, his finger hovering above Enjolras’ pulse point. He kept one hand there and let his other hand find Enjolras’ hand lying limp on the ground. He gripped Enjolras’ wrist, digging his pointer finger into his pulse point so Enjolras could feel him there. Feel his steady heartbeat intermixing with his own. Feel him and see that he was real. “Come on Apollo, tell me I’m wrong. Defend these people and their ‘unanimous’ decisions. Go on.” 

Come back.

Enjolras’s hand shifted in Grantaire’s grip before tightening on Grantaire’s wrist instead. Enjolras took a deep, shaky breath and let his eyes fall closed. He nodded slightly, the aura in the room suddenly dissipating, “You’re always wrong.” He paused, his voice unnaturally quiet. Beside Grantaire, a simple orchid finally broke off from its root and floated peacefully to the ground. “So wrong.”

Grantaire tried to laugh, but it came out as a choked--something. “That’s what I’m here for.”

The ache left Grantaire’s chest as Enjolras’ presence was suddenly once again with him. Things around him were still dying, but Grantaire had never felt so full. So complete. Their thoughts, minds, and soul suddenly locked together once more--or more accurately, Grantaire’s hung onto Enjolras’ for dear life. Still, he couldn't hide the sigh of relief that left his lips at the welcoming, familiar feeling. Enjolras’ heartbeat settled; Grantaire could feel it in his chest.

Enjolras still hadn’t gotten up or made any indication he was going to move. His hold on Grantaire’s wrist stayed strong and in return Grantaire kept his touch on his neck soft and lingering. Enjolras’ eyes eventually snapped open though, a familiar blue that met Grantaire’s easily, “Really? You brought up the 115th conference? I should throw you out.”

Grantaire shrugged, but he was bubbling with happiness, “If there is anything in this world that you can’t help but argue about it’s the 115th conference.”

Enjolras gave him a faint smile, “Only you. Only you would--” Enjolras opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but stopped before he could continue. He froze, his eyebrows drawing together as he lifted the hand not clutching Grantaire’s wrist until his fingers were slowly wiping away stray tears from underneath Grantaire’s eyes. He frowned, obviously displeased, “I hurt you.”

More like traumatized me with the fact that I may never get to feel you ever again, but sure, let’s go with that. “It’s fine.”

“It isn’t.” Enjolras said, firmly. “I hurt you, Grantaire.” He blinked, looking around like he just realized where they were and what they were doing, “Why are you here? Who brought you here?”

Grantaire ignored the pang of hurt, just shook his head, “You were zoning, Enjolras. You’re aura was exploding out of you--Combeferre called Eponine cause he didn’t know what to do. What were you thinking? What were you even trying to do? You could’ve--You almost--”

“That’s no excuse.” Enjolras said, his voice suddenly full of authority and slight anger. Or perhaps frustration. His grip tightened on Grantaire’s wrist, “You can’t be here when I get like that. You are forbidden, understand?”

“Forbidden?” Grantaire asked, exasperated. “How long has this been going on? I couldn’t feel you at all! It was like you were dead! I-I could feel your heartbeat but you were absent to me. That’s some pretty fucking trippy shit, E. You can’t just hide stuff like this from me. How did you even do--Why did you--”

Enjolras didn’t have to answer. The look of shame written across his face and the memories rushing through Grantaire’s mind and the soreness in his abdomen were all he needed. Enjolras’ eyes lingered off of his for a moment, taking in all the wilting plants around him like they were glaring down on him. 

“Enjolras…you...” Grantaire trailed off, his mouth hanging open and his grip on Enjolras’ neck tightening. 

He didn’t know what he was going to say, but someone behind them cleared their throat and Grantaire found every word in his vocabulary suddenly gone and out the window. Enjolras didn’t seem affected though, his eyes remained on Grantaire for a few more precious seconds before he looked back. “Combeferre,”

Combeferre and Eponine were standing in the doorway, well, Combeferre was practically keeping Eponine up with a tight arm around her waist. She looked tired and disoriented, but they both looked shell-shocked and Grantaire could only imagine how long they had been standing there. He didn’t. He refused.

Eponine coughed, “You okay, goldie?”

Enjolras didn’t even glare at the childish name calling, which actually made him wonder if Enjolras actually was okay. He answered, “I’m fine. I apologize for the scare.” His eyes found Grantaire again, “Thank you, R.”

“No problem.” Grantaire said, unable to keep his eyes from widening the longer he looked at Enjolras. Enjolras, who pulled him up a minute later by his wrist and when he went to pull away held on tighter. Grantaire didn’t dare look up to meet his gaze, not when they were chest to chest and Grantaire could practically feel and hear Enjolras’ heartbeat right next to his ear. 

It was comforting. Grantaire would never admit it, not even to Eponine, but it was.

Who knew how long the comfort would last. 

~~~

 

He didn’t tell anyone until Eponine literally pulled him out of work and took him out to lunch in order to squeeze it out of him. Grantaire really can’t blame her, mainly because she wasn’t the only person who realized the he was acting strange. His movements were sluggish, he lost focus easy, and his eating habits were becoming more shitty than normal. Hence, taking him out to lunch plan.

Eponine dragged him to a diner on the edge of Yukkith’s ‘city limits’, aka where a bunch of fucking trees that literally couldn’t not be chopped down ( due old magic no one feels the need to break) started. It was a small, peaceful little place where basically the whole staff were family members and their food was beyond delicious. Grantaire probably ordered seconds--probably made Eponine pay for it too.

“Alright R, let’s not beat around the bush--spill.” Eponine said, easily and carelessly. Like she was asking Grantaire to go get the mail or practice not fucking burning himself whenever he attempted fire magic. Simple.

Grantaire swallowed awkwardly around a large bite of some roll wrapped in rice and peppers, “What? Like my soul? I’m sorry Ep, I just can’t feel that way about you. We’ve been friends too long really.”

“You’re cute.” Eponine raised her eyebrows, “Spill. Now. Or I’ll get Bahorel to come down here and squeeze is out of you--hell, I’ll just do it.”

Grantaire only sighed loudly because he knew this was true. You can’t hide things from Eponine, not for too long anyway. “There’s nothing to tell. I mean, I could tell you, but you’d be as useless with the information as I am with it.”

Eponine twisted the knife in her grasp, the pointed edge dangling dangerously close to the inside of her wrist, but her wrist was covered in so many bracelets, ropes, and trinkets that hung so low that Grantaire didn’t really waste his time worrying about it. She bit the inside of her cheek, “This is about Jehan, isn’t it?”

Grantaire blinked, “Huh? What about Jehan?”

“You know,” Eponine drawled on, wavering her knife in the air like any second she would be forced to use it as a weapon. “the kid’s sweet and all, but I bet he’s getting on your nerves asking about goldie all the time whenever he isn’t right up next to you.”

Grantaire shrugged, “I figured he did that with everyone, asking where E is I mean. Thought he was always looking over his back to see if Enjolras would pounce on him and harvest his organs like some kind of mad man. Enjolras does have that kind of effect on people.”

“Sure, I mean, he’s probably scared of him just because who isn’t? But, don’t take it personally, okay R? Courfeyrac’s been talking with Jehan and learning about where he is from and shit. He hasn’t told me everything, but the stuff he has is pretty fucked up. They treat soulmates,” Grantaire winced at the name, and Eponine quickly corrected herself, “--soulbonding differently.”

“How so?” Grantaire asked. This wasn’t why he was upset, not even close, but he was willingly to stay clear of that particular topic for as long as Eponine allowed him to.

“Apparently it’s a lot more common,” Eponine said, taking a huge bite of some pudding that Grantaire could’ve sworn he saw move just a minute ago. Either that or her blue pudding used to be green. “Like, and people treat it a lot more like--like it’s super fucking important, alright? People who are soulbonded are allowed to get married, have children, etc.”

Grantaire shrugged again, “Sounds pretty basic. Stupid, but basic.”

“Not where it ends.” Eponine said, her voice picking up speed like she was being fueled by Grantaire’s curiosity alone. “Once you’re soulbonded that person has to be apart of every aspect of your life. Every. Aspect. Where you work, where you shop, where you live, who you are friends with. Seeing soulbonded pairs apart is unheard of. Seriously, they may as well sow their hands together from wherever the fuck Jehan is from because you can’t do anything without your ‘other half’.”

“That’s fucking insane.” Grantaire breathed, shaking his head. Thinking of a world where he would have to be with Enjolras in every aspect of his life was enough to set him on edge. Actually living it sounded like a nightmare coming to life.

The mysteries made sense though. The little things Grantaire had noticed from Jehan but were never big enough to actually tell someone about. Jehan constantly asking where Enjolras was whenever Grantaire showed up to a hangout. The way Jehan’s eyes nearly burst out of his skull when Grantaire bought some nectar from a potions lady near his and Courfeyrac’s workplace (“Wait, you’re allowed to buy that?! Without…oh. Nevermind”). Or, the strangest, was how Jehan was possibly one of the touchiest, friendliest people Grantaire had ever met. He always used his hands to talk, whether it was wavering them around, patting someone’s shoulder, or straight up hugging or demanding a piggy back ride from someone, it didn’t matter. Still, Grantaire found it hard to ignore whenever Jehan flinched away from him. Turned a blind eye to his outstretched hand, whenever Grantaire bothered to offer it, and other things. A part of him had chalked it up to Jehan still being scared enough that the small amount of Enjolras’ aura that lingered on him was enough to scare him, but now--

“That,” Grantaire started again, licking the edge of his lips carefully, “That makes sense. A lot of sense, actually. He's just never seen a soul bonded pair that aren't head over fucking heels for the other.”

“Something like that. But that isn’t why you’ve been all negative nancy this week. Huh?” Eponine said and shit. Why couldn’t Grantaire be a better actor?

“Spill.”

“Can’t.”

“You’ll feel better when you do. Try it.”

“It’ll just make you worry. Trust me I know what he’s thi--Enough, I can’t--”

“What is he thinking.” Eponine perked up, putting her fork down and some bread roll she was dipping into the bowl of pudding. Gross. “This is about Enjolras, right? About two weeks ago?”

Grantaire gave a hefty sigh, because of course Eponine would hit the needle right on the fucking head, “Yes.”

“Have you talked to him since then?”

“At meetings?”

“Arguing about dumb political things doesn’t count.”

When Grantaire remained silent, his lips pursing out, Eponine sighed. She finished off the last of her pudding and said, softly, “You’d tell me if you weren’t alright--if you needed help. Right R? You know you aren’t alone.”

“Yeah. I would, Ep. Promise I’ll figure it out.” Grantaire said, a small smile on his lips. He didn’t know if his words were true, but he couldn’t let Eponine worry about him. Not when she had so many problems of her own to deal with.

Eponine nodded, “Good. Now finish your burger before I convince myself to get Gav down here to slip some truth serum into your drink.”

~~~

The next week was something of a blur to Grantaire. Enjolras was absent to him. Not only physically, as in he wasn’t showing up to meetings or answering anyone’s phone calls, but spiritually as well. Grantaire felt nothing and he found himself once again a hollow shell like he was before The Incident. 

He wasn’t the only one worrying though. People turned to him and Combeferre for questions asking about his whereabouts, but neither him nor Combeferre could really give them a straight answer. Combeferre was more civil about it, calming telling everyone that Enjolras needed him time alone while Grantaire, knowing full well that Enjolras could potentially be putting himself in danger, kept that fact to himself and drank like a sailor. 

He knew he should tell someone. He had seen it as clear as day in Enjolras’ mind what he planned to do--what he planned to do again that could end his life. But something was holding him back from saying anything. He summed in up to as soon as he had seen the image in Enjolras’ mind all those weeks ago at his apartment--that is when he had been cut off. Enjolras didn’t trust him. Enjolras didn’t need him like Grantaire did and that fact alone sent a wave of anxiety rushing over Grantaire that made him find it more comfortable to sleep away his worries instead of addressing them with his friends.

So he waited, and he drank, and he slept while people around him worried about Enjolras. Grantaire was empty and not even the finest bottle of wine could fill him up or ease his fears.

~~~

Grantaire halted Courfeyrac’s insistent laughter with a clap on the shoulder. Courfeyrac, puzzled and turning around, looked dazed when he saw him, “Hello dear R, care to join Bahorel and I in a match of who can bend the fork the farthest without touching--”

“No.” Grantaire said, his voice oddly strained. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, “I’m--I’m gonna try and fix this, okay?” Bahorel and Bossuet on the other side of the table had fallen silent, quickly abandoning their ruined forks and other bent and cracked metals. Courfeyrac was staring up at him with understanding eyes. Not an empath, my ass. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I promise I’ll be okay….um, yeah.”

Courfeyrac opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, wanted to interject and tell him that whatever he was planning he should drop before he got hurt. Bossuet looked as though he wanted to scoop Grantaire up and never let him go, tell him that it’ll all be alright it’ll all pass when Grantaire knew better than anyone that it wouldn’t. Not with them sitting around and doing nothing about it. Bahorel gripped the table and probably would’ve spoken had it not been for Courfeyrac, “Okay. If that--okay R. Do what you have to.”

“Thank you.” Grantaire said quietly, releasing his hold on Courfeyrac’s shoulder and making his way out of the Musain’s double doors. He could practically feel the worrying gazes of all of his friends on his back and once again contemplated whether or not it was a good idea to tell them that he was leaving. In the end though, Combeferre would’ve killed him and sent a whole search party looking for him if he never came back. At least that way he would have Courfeyrac’s good word to go on that he was safe, maybe, and hopefully not be too worried.

It didn’t take him too long to reach the end of the city, the long part was trudging through the forest alone. He wished he had started earlier now, not right after dinner when the sun just started to set and the supposedly harmless plants came to life. Never will Grantaire ever trust a dandelion after supper again. Joly had warned him about it, after all. 

As the sun left, so did the warmth of the day, and Grantaire found himself huddled in a thick, winter coat he has had for as long as he could remember. It was an old thing, but a thing that kept him warm and safe. It wasn't like Chetta had put any charms on it or anything it was just--just a thing that he should probably throw away and forget about--but instead he was walking deeper and deeper into the woods with it. Like a heavy weight on his shoulders.

Grantaire didn’t bring his phone… or anything really for that matter. They seemed unneeded, secondary to the real reason he was out here. He sat down after an hour and half or so of walking, his feet aching against the rough soil and his hair blowing viciously against his cheeks due to the sudden cold night wind. It didn’t take long for him to get back up though and keep walking, his hands shoved deep within his pockets. He longed for Feuilly and his knack for spells that involved heat. Sure, he mostly used them to boil water whenever Chetta decided to cook for everyone, but still. 

Sitting down had been a terrible idea. Sitting down gave him the opportunity to think, to realize what an idiot he truly was for doing this.

Something deep down though, something gnawing and empty and utterly lacking, knew he had to do this. Eventually something would happen--he would either die or reach the border because there was no going back. No going back to feeling empty without Enjolras’ presence, his very essence, next to him. He was hollow without him--an empty shell worth nothing--and if Enjolras was blocking him out… then all Grantaire could do was run away from it. Run away and try to forget.

Or--run away until Enjolras had no choice but to meet him out here… that was the plan anyway. A stupid one, but the only one Grantaire could come up with.

Around twenty five minutes later, Grantaire’s plan fell into place with just the sound of a voice and sudden rush of aura surrounding him, “Grantaire, what are you doing?”

When Grantaire didn’t answer, just kept walking, he could faintly hear Enjolras behind him, following him. Hope spread in his chest, but he didn’t let it stop his feet from moving on. He resisted, resisted the urge the turn around and breath Enjolras in, to reconnect something that he felt was completely lost and--

“What are you trying to get at, Grantaire?” Enjolras snapped, his voice angry but tired. So tired, and Grantaire’s heart leapt up into his throat. He shook the fleeting feeling away, remembering why he was out here.

“What is there to get?” Grantaire growled, angry swelling up in his chest and for once him and Enjolras were on the same page. He couldn’t tell where his righteous fury began and where Enjolras’ swelling rage ended. “Can’t you see I’m attempting to run away from my problems here? Look familiar?”

“You aren’t.” Enjolras snapped, only steps behind him. Grantaire could feel his aura along his back, like a cold breeze. “You are causing unnecessary strife between--Grantaire, I have work I--”

“What work? What work could possibly make you dissa--” Grantaire asked, cutting off and spinning around to glare at Enjolras. “I haven’t heard or seen you in weeks! No one has! What else was I supposed to do Enjolras?”

Enjolras stopped, like Grantaire had smacked him in the face with realization, “You dragged me out here on purpose…”

“Yes, yes I fucking did. How else was I supposed to see you when you've gone and locked yourself away from our friends!” Grantaire admitted easily. Enjolras only did ever come for him whenever he was being forced outside the border, “You would’ve known that to if you hadn’t--What are you doing Enjolras?”

It had been nearly three weeks, three weeks of neglect where even Combeferre only saw Enjolras occasionally, and it showed. Three weeks since that night at his apartment. The shadows under his eyes and the tired slump of his shoulders was proof enough that he wasn’t taking care of himself. He looked miserable, beat up and spit out, and Grantaire just couldn’t understand why. The ease of understanding Enjolras at times through their bond was lost, like it had been ripped away from Grantaire without him even putting up a fight. 

“I’m working. Working. Is that such a foreign concept to you? Have you ever considered the idea of how much pressure there is on me?” Enjolras said, voice slowly rising. “Have you ever just taken a step back and realized there is a whole other world past these borders, R? That there are people suffering and dying and--and I can’t do anything about it!”

Grantaire recoiled, physically and mentally, “What the fuck are you talking about? You help people all the time! Don’t act like I don’t notice Enjolras, even if I don’t take you guys seriously sometimes, I know that your intentions are--”

“You don’t understand.” Enjolras breathed, running his hands through his matted hair. “You can’t. You never will and--”

“Let me.” Grantaire blurted out before he could think better of it. Enjolras’ eyes were screwed shut and his fingers were still imbedded into his locks. He swallowed, “Let me see, let me in so I can understand. Please, please, just--just don’t block me out. I-I …”

Grantaire continued when Enjolras just shook his head, letting his hands fall limp at his sides, “Let me know what you are planning. Please, I just, I just want to help you. You know that. You know I would do anything--I--”

“Anything?” Enjolras asked, breathless.

“I already knew what was going through your mind before--” before you cut me off. Grantaire shook his head, balling up his fists, “You are going to try it again. Aren’t you? Just like the first time...”

Enjolras’ face was stone, not displaying any other emotion except frustration. Eventually though, he sighed, rough and brittle, “I have to try, R. I have to. I can’t--I can’t live like this anymore. It is getting harder to control,” as if to demonstrate, the grass surrounding Enjolras was beginning to turn a sickly gray color, completely absent of life as a wave of black aura swept over them. Grantaire’s first instinct was to take a step back when the black mist reached the tips of his boots, but he held his ground and let it cover his ankles and feet instead. “It'll overtake me one day, you always knew this--I'm sure everyone does. If there is a way to turn this--this curse--into something good, something beneficial, even if it means destroying me entirely than I’m going to pursue it.” He said it so coolly, like his death wouldn't be the end of Grantaire as well. And not just because of the bond. Grantaire's stomach twisted violently at the thought. “I can't--I can’t live in a world where I have so much power but--but not be able to do anything with it all.”

Grantaire remembered Enjolras attending one of Joly’s classes when they were out studying some rare species of oak trees that were supposed to be extinct millenniums ago. Enjolras had taken one step into the clearing and all the trees shriveled more quickly than they had suddenly arrived. Cementing their status. 

Enjolras excelled at every form and technique magic had to offer--the best in all aspects that Grantaire or anyone from Yukkith has ever seen. Except light magic. Nothing about Enjolras’ aura was light-hearted or comforting--not at first glance anyway. 

Resurrection of any living creature besides a serpent or an incubus had always failed. Always. No matter how many times he had sat around bodies that had died in a horrible accident. Nothing ever happened, besides the bodies rotting quicker. 

Grantaire’s heart still clenched at the words he already knew were coming. Had known for weeks now. He shuddered, fighting off the coldness around him and within, “Okay.” He whispered, white mist forming near his mouth. “Okay.”

“No, not okay, it isn’t.”

“Then why are you--”

“It isn’t for you.” Enjolras’ words send Grantaire almost flying back, stunning him. “For me, this is my curse, R. You won’t be apart of it, not--” not like last time.

“I’m not leaving you. You almost died last time, Enjolras, I won’t leave. I won’t.” Grantaire said, adamant. “I'm not. I have nowhere else to go. You know I don’t. Please, please… Let me help you.” Grantaire’s voice cracked at the end and if he wasn’t so desperate he would bury himself in a hole and never come out. But with every word Grantaire could feel himself growing farther apart, Enjolras’ drawing further and further away from him, prompting him to take steps forward, ignoring the aura that sent tremors rumbling through his body. 

Enjolras looked truly pained, like Grantaire’s word were tearing him apart, “You don’t know what you are saying. What your offering…Jesus R, do you even realize how dangerous--”

“Of course I do.” Grantaire insisted, reaching forward without truly understanding the consequences. His fingers seemed to ignite when they landed on Enjolras’ cheek, but Grantaire cradled Enjolras’ face in his hands, not willing to let go unless Enjolras forced him away. His voice came out quietly, his eyes fluttered open and shut, “I know exactly what I’m offering. I haven’t told anyone else what you’re planning to do, and I won’t unless you want me to. You know I would never--I’m here. I’m right here. Use me, whatever you are trying to do that isn’t working, it’s--it’s killing you it’s--whatever is stopping you from reaching your goal… you can take it from me.”

Enjolras’ just shook his head, closing his eyes, “Stop.” He sounded almost angry, like he wanted to push Grantaire away for what he was saying. He knew Enjolras well enough though that despite his best efforts to block it out even he could hear the fear underlying in Enjolras’ tone. Grantaire barely managed to hold his ground, “Stop making things up. You would never--R you can't--”

“God Enjolras, you already know this.” Grantaire said, crowding in closer, forcing Enjolras’ head down in order to look at him. His eyes were still closed, hidden from him. “You know I would do anything.” How could he not? After all this time of Grantaire’s soul being helplessly attached to his, how could Enjolras not know that Grantaire would do anything for him. Die for him. Follow him into the depths of hell if that meant-- “Just don’t block me out. Don’t--Don’t leave me.”

Enjolras eyes opened after several seconds of nothing but heavy breathing passing between them. Enjolras’ skin was practically glowing with pent up energy, deathly blackness just wanting to spill out. He was stone, beautiful and unmoving, but his eyes held a warmth that Grantaire hadn’t known he was capable of. Grantaire’s hands were shaking as he roughly traced Enjolras’ cheekbones, running over his porcelain skin like it was fine marble. Enjolras must’ve noticed his shaking, because eventually he sighed, long and hard like he had just been beat, before taking Grantaire’s hands in his own. Grantaire could only gape as Enjolras used the hold on his wrists to drag him closer, into something more intimate and heart-warming. 

Enjolras’s hands hovered awkwardly over Grantaire’s shoulder blades before resting gently on his back. Grantaire on the other hand, unable to resist, like Enjolras’ was a magnet of sorts that he could’ve help but find himself drawn to, wrapped his arms around Enjolras’ midsection. Grantaire’s face was smashed in the soft, cold fabric of Enjolras’ t-shirt, he wasn’t wearing a coat despite the harsh weather conditions, and he could faintly feel the huff of air every time Enjolras’ released a long sigh on the top of his head.

“I won’t. You’re not alone.” Enjolras said, quietly, running his fingers lazily through Grantaire's curls. 

“Neither are you.” Grantaire replied a beat later, not lifting up his chilled cheek from the center of Enjolras’ chest, “You aren’t. You have friends, Enjolras.. Friends who are worried sick about you.” He let out a sigh, tightening his already unbreakable grip on Enjolras, “You don’t have to tell them what you are doing, and if you don’t want me to say a word about it either you know I won’t. But, but don’t cut yourself out of their lives. They love you too much for that.” 

I love you too much for that.

Enjolras’ hand dropped down from his curls and trailed the tips of his fingers down Grantaire’s spine, careful and tentative, “I won’t. I won’t cut them out. That includes you, R. I’m sorry.”

Just as the words left Enjolras’ lips, the giant hole in the center of Grantaire’s chest closed up, becoming whole again. Grantaire let out a shuddery breath in response and buried his face deeper into Enjolras, taking in his sweet, citrus-y smell and overwhelming aura that should cause him to have a headache, but instead filled him with comfort that he didn’t know he needed. Enjolras’ arms were tighter around him as well, probably the only thing keeping him up.

“Let’s go. You’re cold.” Enjolras said, his lips brushing the tips of Grantaire’s hair.

Grantaire nodded, unwillingly untangling himself from Enjolras’ hold. He could worry about what the future held later, but right now all of his focus was on Enjolras. Enjolras who was undoubtedly his everything. A person he would do anything for. A man he would die for if it meant keeping him by his side.

The thought should be terrifying, but all Grantaire felt was warmth swelling in his chest when Enjolras zapped them back to city limits.


End file.
